


Heartsease

by merulanoir



Series: Forget Me Not [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: AUish, BDSM, Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC) Spoilers, Character Study, M/M, Retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-06 20:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15202772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: Geralt and Regis fell for each other when they were with the hansa. They get a second chance much later, but not everything goes according to plan. Both of them have their own secrets, there will be a time to make hard choices, and then live with them.A re-telling of the whole story, focusing on the Blood and Wine timeline. A character study, a love story, and a happy ending.





	1. Fight For It

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I only own nothing! You know how it goes.
> 
> My headcanon!Geralt is sub, period. I was SO GLAD to discover I was not the only one with thoughts like this. So, credit given where credit is due: I adored a_sparrows_fall 's fics. Go read them, now. Again, if you have done so in the past.
> 
> I wanted to write my own story about Geralt and Regis. I also wanted to write smut, so...
> 
> This is part a character study, part love story. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but the plot could not be compressed into that format. Sorry, not sorry. Starts off with a male OC, but the endgame is Geralt/Regis, so worry not. We will get there. :)
> 
> English is not my first language, so I apologize for any funky grammar. If anyone wants to volunteer for beta duty, hmu.

  **I**

Geralt is wintering for the first time in Kaer Morhen when they meet. Hazair is some ten years Geralt's senior; he hasn't been to the Wolf School keep for almost fifteen years. He mentions something about Toussaint and its agreeable climate upon arriving in the great hall on November 17th. The man passes by and Geralt's mind moves on, running from topic to topic, as per usual.

Geralt has been on the Path for over two years now. He had missed last year's wintering because he was on an escort mission all the way to Nilfgaard. He is still trying to adjust to being around so many other people for days on end. It feels safe and familiar, but sometimes the noise and proximity are just too much for him. He wonders whether he has always valued his solitary time this much, or if there is only so much drunken bravado a man can stand.

Mostly it's good, though. Being around the only family he has is relaxing. For once, almost nothing needs to be concealed.

He's sitting alone on a Thursday night in early December, waiting for Eskel to join him for supper, when Hazair's voice catches his attention again. It's mellow and soft and unlike some, he has no need to raise the volume to be heard. The people listen because he speaks truly and bluntly, not bothering to weave his words into anything he himself is not. The contrast intrigues Geralt, for the older witcher is built like an auroch; he has black and brown hair, black beard, and even sitting down he towers over his tablemates. It would be easy to take him for a brute, but for some reason Geralt can't categorize him as one.

Geralt doesn't mean to eavesdrop on his seniors, but he finds himself enjoying Hazair's voice the more he indulges himself. He let's himself just absorb the cadence, not really paying attention to the actual words. It's calming, and for a while the general noice of the great hall fades.

Then suddenly Hazair catches his eye and notices that he's been all but staring. Geralt feels his insides go cold and readies himself to be reprimanded or made fun of. He has ever been the odd one out, and this does not help.

Instead of calling attention to him, Hazair _winks_ and gives him a smile of his own, as if he knows why the young man had been listening. Geralt quickly looks away and curses his pale skin which still, after all the mutagens, manages to blush. From the corner of his eye he can see Hazair once more giving his full attention to Vesemir (who is griping about the amount of witchers who have turned up this year and are eating the pantry empty by January, although Geralt knows he is only pleased so many of them are alive.)

Eskel scoots next to him and hands him a bowl of stew. He launches into a monologue about some younger witcher candidates and their antics of the day, but Geralt doesn't really listen. He feels shaken but intrigued, he decides, as Eskel once more laments about accepting the offered trainer position.

**II**

Hazair seeks him out two days later. Geralt had once more had his fill of the full keep and had made the walk to training grounds that were located much further away. He's doing solo drills with sword when he hears Hazair's steps in the passageway. The man is not trying to sneak up on Geralt, so he finishes the drill before turning around.

”You're Geralt, right?” Hazair says, shaking his hand. ”Vesemir's told me all about you,” he adds, smiling.

”All bad, I wager. You are?” Geralt answers. He throws on a shirt, because even though the sun is shining, the air is cold and he has worked up a sweat. It's a beautiful day, just past two o'clock in the afternoon, going by the position of the sun.

”Hazair Tahraren. Been away for some time, down south and that way.” He rolls his r's sligthly, but Geralt can't decide whether it's an accent of just the way he speaks. His name is like a deep rumble, Geralt thinks vaguely.

”I'm wintering for the first time, been on the Path a little over two years now.”

”It's a shock coming back, ain't it? You get used to your own company and privacy and then come back to this mummers' show, eh?” Hazair chuckles, and Geralt has a passing feeling the older man has already made several observations about him. He is apparently not the only inquisitive one.

”Yeah, it's been...” he starts, but suddenly isn't sure what he wanted to say. He has always been crap at small talk, the words deserting him when they are needed.

Hazair looks at him, both amused and speculating.

”Say, you were the one who took down the cockatrice near Oxenfurt? Nasty bugger, from what I heard. Also heard you did well, as I passed through not long after, and the town was still abuzz about the silver-haired but remarkably young witcher.”

Geralt merely nods, feeling his jaws tighten minutely. He is also crap at receiving compliments. His memory keeps revisiting the things he could have done differently, could have done better. They dampen the glow of a job well done. It's nothing new, because he has always been a perfectionist. On the Path, however, the habit carries a darker shadow. He doesn't know how the others make peace with their choices (the good and the bad.) He has had innumerable sleepless nights since setting off.

Hazair just keeps watching him, giving him space. Geralt doesn't feel as awkward as when other people get nosy; on the contrary, his curiosity about the older man slowly returns. Finally, Hazair sighs and gives his shoulder a squeeze. His hand is warm despite the chill, and it leaves Geralt feeling like he's anchored, as stupid as it sounds. He feels more present, more real.

He decides it is good. New and odd, but good.

”You up for sparring?” Hazair breaks the silence, and his smile reappears, a bit mischievous. Geralt nods, surprised by the fact that Hazair can be bothered to fight him, a novice witcher by all accounts. However, he's of an opinion that fighting people yields at least an equal amount of information as talking to them (or getting drunk with them), so he's eager.

Hazair strips off his own white shirt. He's muscular and tanned, and coarse black hair covers his chest and belly. _By Melitele, the man is big,_ Geralt manages to think. He's never seen another Wolf like him. If he would not have the same medallion Geralt does, he would have guessed the man was from the Bear School.

What is familiar, however, is the amount of damage the years have done to Hazair. Geralt has some scars, too, but Hazair's body is like a battlefield. It doesn't bother him, he's yet to meet a witcher who has not given up some part of his body to the Path. Still, his eyes are drawn to the marks. Especially to a long, pale scar that runs along his chest and ends just above his navel. It must have been a matter of life and death.

”A basilisk,” Hazair says, when he sees his eyes trail its path. Geralt realizes he's been caught staring again. This time he feels the blush coming and averts his eyes. When he has stripped off his own shirt and picked up the training sword, he turns back towards the master witcher. Hazair is looking straight at him as he hefts a blunt, tall spear, getting the feel of it. His eyes are kind, but there's something new in them. He looks... Appreciative?

Geralt feels skinny and young, even though he's been a man grown for several years. He's not small by any means, and he's even had some courageous village girls propositioning him, so objectively he doesn't look bad, either, and _what the hell is he even thinking?_

Hazair takes a starting pose, still smiling. Wind has stopped blowing altogether and the sun is only just starting it's descent towards the western mountain range. It shines into Hazair's eyes over the stone walls of the practice arena, making them glow deep brown. At that, Geralt snaps back to the present moment, taking his preferred stance.

And suddenly it's all right, for this he knows. Fighting has always come naturally to him. When he got his new body after the Trial of the Grasses, he found solace in the movement, the push and pull of a fight. It helped him handle his grief over lost friends and fear of an uncertain future. It still does, although the occasions when he can afford to lose himself in it are few and far between.

He is smiling, too. He feels good.

”No holds barred?” Hazair asks. Geralt nods, a pleasant wave of adrenaline making his skin tingle.

They start out easy, Hazair getting the feel of him, too, by jabbing and feinting. Then he suddenly grins viciously and strikes at him with such speed that the spear makes a humming sound as it passes an inch in front of his nose. Then it's all out.

Hazair fights like he speaks, Geralt muses somewhere at the back of his mind where his consciousness retreats in moments like this. The man is huge but he moves _so well_ , never stumbling and seemingly unhindered by his bulk. He makes no unnecessary movements, trusting in his technique completely. Geralt gives Hazair everything he's got, landing a few hits here and there, but the difference of skill is evident. Usually it would frustrate him, but now he sees it as an opportunity to learn and to give this moment his full, absolute focus.

Then Hazair strikes out, violently fast, and Geralt isn't fast enough to dodge. He manages to swivel just enough that his head doesn't get whacked, but the spear still catches his hair, ripping the leather cord out. He drops down and rolls away, pushing the hair out of his eyes as he stands up. Hazair grins, halting momentarily.

”You need to ease into it, Geralt. Let go of whatever is bothering you, just go with the flow,” he calls out, his soft voice carrying curious weight. Geralt takes it all in for a second. He's sweaty and aching. He feels amazing, strong and brave. He grins back at Hazair, his hair stubbornly falling over his eyes. He can't help but feel a sense of veneration.

Hazair sees him relax and he laughs delightedly, looking for all the world like he just found something precious. It confuses Geralt, but it's merely a new entry to the list of good, new feelings.

Hazair moves in again, going so fast Geralt's eyes have trouble keeping up. His body reacts before his mind can comprehend what is happening. The fight resumes, but now it feels different. There's a new edge to it. Hazair keeps pushing him, and he goes with it. Geralt has no time to catalogue anything that takes place, because in the end his block cracks Hazair's spear in half. They halt again, both panting heavily, and Geralt can't for the life of him tell how long they have been doing this. Hazair laughs and tosses the pieces away.

”Should've known better than to use that old thing,” he says as his hands curl into big fists. He eyes Geralt, who wipes sweat from his forhead and dumps his sword. Hazair grins, his eyes twinkling.

”You should've hang onto that edge, Geralt. You'll see soon.” And then he charges.

And by Melitele, does Geralt see. If Hazair was a real challenge with weapons, with fists he is something else entirely. He moves like he's glad he's rid of the weapon, like this is how he was made to fight, be it men or monsters. He pulls several of his hits before they knock something loose. It doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

Geralt let's go of any preconceived notions he might have had. He reacts, attacks and moves, his whole world narrowing down into this moment. His mind, which normally won't shut up, goes eerily quiet. It's glorious. It's scary, but not nearly scary enough for him to stop.

And all the while he sees how Hazair looks at him. He _sees_ him, he sees exactly how Geralt keeps up with him. And he likes what he sees.

Geralt has no idea how long they go on, but finally his body tires. Hazair sweeps him off his feet and slams him into the wall of the training arena. He pins him down, body flush with Geralt's, forearm crushing into his chest.

For some seconds neither does nothing but take deep breaths. Geralt is lost inside his head, his body alight with its pains and sensations. He hurts but it doesn't bother him, because he knows he is in no danger. Hazair keeps him pinned down, and Geralt just _knows_ he cannot do anything to change the situation. It should worry him, but all he can feel is the heat of the other man, how he feels completely trapped between him and the stone wall, and how it sets his body on different kind of fire altogether.

He raises his left hand, which is not pinned beneath him and slowly, hesitantly runs it down Hazair's side, feeling the slick skin and muscles underneath. There are no rational thoughts linked to the action, but it falls into a natural continuum of events.

_This is how it is supposed to go. This is how it continues._

Hazair's eyes widen a little at the contact, but then he closes his eyes and sighs. For a while he let's Geralt explore his body where he can reach. When he opens his eyes, they seem darker. He looks momentarily thoughtful, but then Geralt's fingers brush over a sensitive spot and he curses.

Then he kisses Geralt like he's never been kissed before. His right hand grips his hair gently, while the left one sneaks around his waist and pulls him even closer. Geralt kisses back and a small sound escapes him. Sweet gods, why has no one told him this could feel so good? Kissing the unknown girls feels like a pale, misty dawn compared to this, a blazing sun of a July midday.

Hazair kisses him with such fire that Geralt fears he might burn out. His hands tangle themselves into Hazair's black hair. Hazair sweeps his tongue over Geralt's lips and nips at them, and Geralt yields, letting Hazair's tongue roam as it pleases.

Hazair breaks the kiss, but only to sweep his tongue down Geralt's neck, over the salt and skin. His breathing is shallow and hot, and as he sucks down under Geralt's ear, a needy sound escapes the younger man's throat. He should be mortified at being so undone, but he feels so good. And he can tell Hazair feels equally as good, for he's growing hard and hot under his loose pants.

Geralt revels in the feeling. He vaguely remembers the slurs and hatred people have for men who sleep with other men, but surely there can be nothing bad in something that feels this right? In Kaer Morhen, it's more of an eccentricity than a fault, but the outer world is different. He doesn't care, the thoughts just flit through his head as Hazair goes on, surely making marks on his skin.

Hazair breaks the contact and looks him in the eyes, smiling, pupils blown wide. Geralt can only guess how he must look, red of face and lips bruised from the kisses.

”You're something special,” Hazair whispers and kisses him again. He grinds down on Geralt's throbbing cock, and Geralt feels how he's dripping already. He can claim no experience with men, but how hard can it be? He knows Hazair won't take advantage of him, and he wants this badly.

”Yes, special,” Hazair repeats against Geralt's lips. ”I can offer you this, right now only, or something else entirely, if that is what you desire, my dear.”

Geralt manages to pull himself together, and he raises his eyebrows, questioning. Hazair looks at him, searching for something. His hands have come to rest on Geralt's hips, thumbs caressing the bare skin above the trousers. Geralt shivers and tries to grind down, anything to get some of that delicious friction. Hazair's eyes go dark again, and he seems to make the decision.

Before Geralt can wrap his head around what is happening, Hazair has flipped him the other way around, and he's once again pinned down against the wall. For a second he feels alarm, but then he hears the whispered words:

”A word is all it takes. Anything you don't like, you need but tell me.” Hazair's voice is silk smooth, a weighty precence in the haze of the moment. He nods and hears Hazair growl.

Hazair sucks kisses up and down his neck. He has Geralt's arms pinned in place behind his back. The feeling from the fight returns, and Geralt let's his mind go, yields entirely to the feeling of Hazair grinding savagely down on his ass and his bruising kisses on his exposed throat. He feels ready to come, and he hasn't even touched himself.

Suddenly Hazair yanks his trousers down. The cool air makes his cock jump just before a rough hand wraps itself around it. Geralt moans, even the contact is almost too much. He feels Hazair's hot breath ghost over his left cheek.

”Would you like to come? Would you like me to make you feel good?” His voice is quiet, but so full of dark undertones it is the most sensual thing Geralt has ever experienced. A whimper escapes his mouth, but nothing else.

Hazair chuckles darkly, and then he _bites_ Geralt, hard and savage just where the neck and shoulder join. At the same moment, his hand moves, stroking up and down Geralt's leaking dick. The clash of pain and pleasure is almost too much, and ragged moans are just about all he can manage.

When Hazair stops, Geralt is left panting and more aroused than he has ever been. Hazair runs his thumb over the tip of his cock, and his hips try to buck, he's so close...

”You need to ask for it, Geralt. You need to ask nicely, and maybe I will let you come,” Hazair hisses in his ear, licking at the painful spot. Hot tendrils sneak from the point of contact, spreading along.

”Pl- please,” Geralt manages, panting viciously hard, trying to understand what he's feeling. It's all so much.

”Didn't quite catch that,” Hazair purrs, giving his cock the faintest of brushes.

”Please, please let me come, I'm so close, please...” Geralt whispers, trying to string together enough words. He feels used and powerless, but in a good way. He feels like he can let himself go for a moment, and Hazair will take care of the rest. He just needs to trust the man.

Hazair laughs softly. He strokes Geralt slowly.

”I want to hear you, Geralt, let me hear how you enjoy being my little toy.”

He tries to fight it, some semblance of embarrasment still clinging to him. It feels wrong, but he can't quite remember why.

Hazair slams him once against the wall, knocking the air out of him and grinds his rock-hard dick against Geralt's bare ass.

”You will do as I say, or you will be left high and dry, without permission to touch yourself,” he whispers darkly, rubbing his dick along the cleft of Geralt's ass. Geralt whimpers, once, and just then Hazair bites him again.

He bites and suck so hard, and at the same time his calloused hand resumers its work on his straining cock. Geralt let's go.

He moans and whimpers as Hazair savages his neck, stroking him harder.

”You're so good,” Hazair murmurs in between. ”You're mine.”

Geralt comes so hard it feels like someone punched him. His mind is eerily silent, there's only Hazair's voice, it's soft hum that lifts him up and then brings him slowly, gently down.

When Geralt regains some of his senses, he's sitting against Hazair's chest on the ground. The older man caught him when his knees buckled, he thinks vaguely. Hazair drops a soft kiss on his shoulder, and Geralt can feel he is smiling.

”How do you feel?”

”Uh.”

He hears the man chuckle. His left arm holds him close against his massive chest, while the right strokes his neck and cheek. It feels good, more than good. Geralt let's his body go slack, allowing this, too. In a way it's harder to accept he needs these gentle administrations as much as he needed the release a minute ago.

After a while, he twist around, and Hazair let's him. He's still basically in the man's lap when he kisses him, slowly this time, reveling in it. Hazair holds him close, and after the kiss he presses his forehead against Geralt's.

”I didn't dare to hope for anything like this,” he says softly. ”Are you feeling fine?”

Geralt searches for words. He feels very calm, like someone had taken a wet cloth and wiped off the mess that was his thoughts, giving him a blank space.

”Yeah. I'm... I am fine. I... I liked that.” The last sentence comes out almost like a question.

”Would you like to do this again?” Hazair asks, smile crooking into something hungry.

”Yes,” Geralt breathes.

”For this winter, Geralt, you can be mine and I can be yours. This is between us, and no one else. Not because it's something I'm ashamed of, but because there are people who will not understand, but rather attempt to ruin it,” Hazair says. There's a hint of sadness in his voice, and Geralt knows he is not talking only about the fact that they are both men.

Geralt nods, and Hazair kisses him again.

 

**III**

Hazair leaves in early April. The evening before his departure he gives Geralt a knife and fucks him blind. Afterwards, they hold each other in silence.

Geralt isn't sure what he feels. He's sad because it's uncertain if they will ever see each other again. He's itching to get back on the Path, because despite everything, he is a witcher and a loner. He feels like the winter has changed him more than his time on The Path, in subtle ways. Hazair didn't only take Geralt to his bed; he trained him ruthlessly, in both armed and unarmed combat, signs, and alchemy. They had grown close, despite lacking anything either would mistake for love. And since they have been forthright on that account, too, it has never been a source of distress.

He ponders whether it is of lesser importance that he has also learned how to give and receive this speacial kind of pleasure. Hazair had been gentle when it was needed, but when he sensed Geralt could take it, he pushed him equally as hard as when fighting him.

Geralt had his crisis of identity when he realised he absolutely, without question, loved submitting to his partner. He felt weak and stupid, and tried to avoid Hazair to break it off. It worked for almost three hours, and then the master witcher tracked him down. Instead of making fun of him, Hazair had taken him on a long walk, and they had talked for hours. It was easier to talk about difficult topics when you didn't have to look the other person in the eye the whole time, it seemed. Only Hazair's explanation lifted his spirits; being this way was a choice, and it was a rare gift. It was something that should not be given without mutual consent, and which makes him something more, and never, ever less.

Hazair had taught him the meaning of safewords and pressed him to use them. He had chosen his years ago, and Geralt knows he too will always associate azaleas and dahlias with acts of this nature.

***

”Where will you go, Geralt?” Hazair asks him, when all the light has long ago faded. Geralt looks at him and smiles.

”Why, I have no direction yet. I will be staying a bit longer, wait for the northern passes to clear.”

”So northwards, then?”

”Perhaps.”

Hazair smiles, knowing full well he's being vague because he wants to have his total freedom come spring. He needs time and space to grow into this new Geralt. It has been like passing through a whole new set of Trials, albeit much less unpleasant ones.

”This was as good a winter as I've ever had. I will remember you fondly,” Hazair says.

”And I you,” Geralt answers before slipping out of bed and dressing himself.

Despite sharing a bed, they never slept in one together. Hazair always held him close after they had sex, be it rough and wild or slow and teasing, but they slept in their own chambers. It was partly because witchers having nightmares could result in injury to bedmates, but in Geralt's mind it was a part of the boundaries they set and agreed upon: _This here we share, but the rest belongs to me, and me only. Me not sharing this with you is not a slight, but a sign of honesty: a kindness._

Geralt walked slowly towards his own bedchambers in the north wing of the keep. He had been lucky in not receiving another person to share the accommodations with. It would have made his comings and goings more public. Sometimes he had a creeping thought that it all was showing on his face, but no one had ever confronted him about it. The marks Hazair left were easy enough to cover for the most part, and when they were not, he could pass them off as something acquired during training.

Geralt knew that he couldn't possibly be the only person who ended up having sex with a fellow witcher during winter. The mutagens took away some emotions and needs, and some unfortunate souls lost more than others, but he knew he felt things as keenly as before. He had not been very good at distinguishing the jumbles of emotions, but during the dark months Hazair had spelled that, too, out for him. In a way, making sense of the stuff inside his head had felt more difficult than anything they had done together.

Geralt snapped out of his thoughts when he heard steps. Before he could come up with any excuse why he was up at two in the morning, Eskel rounded the corner.

”Geralt. Why are you up?” he said, voice low as if afraid he'd wake somebody up.

”Uh, well, actually... Why are you up?” Geralt was acutely aware of his mussed up hair and haphazard clothing, and he knew Eskel was not easy to fool. He would make a fine instructor one day, that was sure.

”One of the young ones had a bad nightmare and the rest came to get me, because apparently I'm not as scary as Coën,” he sighed, but Geralt could see he was pleased to have won their trust. That would come back to bite him later, he thought. Not many of the young ones were going to make it to the Trial of the Medallion, and getting attached was a surefire way to get hurt.

”You didn't answer me, by the way.”

Geralt knew he was a shitty liar, everyone said so. He raked his brain for an answer that would not be too obvious, but drew a blank. He almost snapped at Eskel, but then he realised his brother witcher was smiling.

”Relax, I'm just messing with you. It's between you and Tahraren, and no one else's business,” Eskel said and shrugged. ”At least you two are discreet. I swear if I have to run into Mattias and Doar one more time...”

”Do- do people know?” Geralt blurted out, feeling his sweat go cold. Eskel looked at him kindly.

”No, Geralt. I know only because I've known you for twenty years and I've never seen you this relaxed with anyone,” he chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder as he continued walking back towards his own chambers.

Geralt was left wondering what he had done to deserve a friend like Eskel.

 


	2. Liminal; Inchoative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the storyline I'm weaving. I'm also willfully ignoring some of the canon and using the rest as I please. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Ok, folks, I'm almost finished with this monster. My original thought of a two-chapter smutfest transformed into 90+ pages of 'let's fix everything that was wrong with Blood And Wine and then some.' My upper back has never known such agony, because I have fervently taken every single free moment in the last week to write this. This second chapter is a bit shorter than others. Trying to get the third one edited and up before the end of the week.
> 
> Un-betae'd.

**I**

Traveling with the hansa makes Geralt happy, in its own, curious way. He respects Milva (and no, he is not afraid of her, no matter what Dandelion might say), and he had grown close with Zoltan before parting ways. Dandelion he has of course known since, oh hell, too long actually, and they are as thick as ever. It's a solid comfort in a world where he doesn't know how anything will turn out. Eventually even having Cahir and Angoulême around keeps him sane, if only because sometimes he feels a strong need to strangle them both. Reminds him of Kaer Morhen, and that brat called Lambert especially.

And then there's Regis.

He had been peculiar from the start. There was something that nagged at Geralt, but he couldn't put his finger on it; Regis' simple way of being intrigued him. He seemed to have answers to any questions you might ask, and yet he was kind and not aloof like other educated people Geralt had known. Geralt had been alive long enough to recognize he grew fond of him unreasonably fast, despite his way of sometimes talking to them like they were children (in retrospect it made sense, really, but it was still annoying the living daylight out of the witcher.)

Geralt's mind had replayed Regis lifting the horseshoe out of the fire a thousand times when he and Dandelion sat in the prison cell. How he had risked exposure to save some poor girl who should have been nothing to him. Even as he was so angry he thought he might choke, he couldn't point that aggression to Regis, wholly, because he was also angry at himself. He should have noticed things were not right, and then reigned in his erratic heart that felt like it could attach itself to the older man. He should have.

And when Regis finally did return to bust them out of the prison, he only looked a bit smug and then gave Geralt a genuine smile despite knowing his cover had been blown. Like he didn't even care, or if he did, he would have done it all again anyway.

He had sworn he would kill the vampire if he came back. And he had fucking known all along he could never do it. Not when Regis looked back at him and clearly knew he was full of shit, knew he cared for him despite all his protests and griping.

He remembers thinking, _oh no, oh no._ He was glad Dandelion was so engrossed in his own misery. He felt like anyone could have seen what he thought right then, especially his oldest friend.

He feared Regis had noticed how his heart was tugging at the sight of him. It only got worse after he knew what Regis was, because apparently his traitor of a heart did not see it fit to spare him this pain. When Regis came back and still treated him like a friend, he felt something cave inside of him. It was like a rapid bursting free of winter ice, never meant to be contained for long.

***

Despite knowing it was not a good idea, after all that he allowed himself to grow closer to Regis. What surprised him was the vampire's willingness to reciprocate. They'd stay up and talk, about anything and everything. They rode together, ate together, and it all felt natural. Regis learned what Ciri really meant to him, and what was the all-consuming need to find her. He listened to Geralt's halting and chipped explanation about his relationship with Yennefer of Vengerberg, only to wrap his arm around his shoulder afterwards and just hold him close. Geralt felt things shift minutely day by day and tried to bury it all inside himself.

He was painfully aware of the absurdity of it all, a witcher befriending a higher vampire, not to mention starting to fall for him. It was an antithesis of everything he had been taught up until this point. But things were never that simple, for Geralt had never met a kinder person. Sure, Regis took his time talking, but he was an even better listener. Geralt could feel the barber-surgeon finding a way into his core, and no matter how hard he tried to restrain his thoughts, they were like a needle in a compass, drawn to their new north.

One night, a week after the battle of Yaruga, they sat outside in the dark together.

”I'm glad it's over,” Geralt sighed, slumping against a tree and not sure if he was talking about the battle or the ceremony afterwards. He was worried about Milva, worried about Ciri, still hurting and tired of the war messing up everything, on top of things already being blown to bits. Regis looked at him, his dark eyes scrutinizing.

”I'm sure your wounds have been tended to, but you still look like you're in pain. What can I do, Geralt?”

”What can anyone do?” Geralt answered, not really caring. He was weary, and still had such a long way to go.

A memory of Hazair resurfaced in the quiet that followed. Geralt had not thought about the man in a long time. He had not found anyone who he could have trusted with this particular secret, and it had always left him aching in some deep way. He had managed, but guarding it felt like a burden.

His relationship with Yennefer had been stormy and hard, and while they managed to hurt each other plenty, all in all it was a far cry from what Geralt might have hoped for. They were close and intimate, bound together because of Ciri, and yet... There had never been a moment when he'd felt he could have bared the secret parts of himself to her. Something had been missing; after Yennefer's disappearance in Thanedd, Geralt had realized he would not go back for her out of love, if she was alive somewhere.

 _What can anyone do?_ Geralt thought to himself. He knew the answer, but it had been buried so long it felt foreign; he wanted to be held close and dear, just like every other damn person in this world. He wanted to keep his loved ones safe. Maybe he had somehow failed as a witcher, but it was true. On a selfish level, he wanted to find someone who would take his secrets and accept them. Not now, when there were so many things to be done and people to be saved, but someday. Maybe.

Regis must have read him like an open book, because he smiled sadly. Suddenly he gathered the witcher close, not caring when Geralt went stiff with surprise. Regis held him for a long time, and Geralt could not tell whether it was a hug or an embrace. Finally, he allowed himself to relax against the vampire and brought his arms around him, knowing he if anyone could support his weight. He buried his face into Regis' shoulder and tried not let his heart betray how much and how long he had wanted to get close to him. It felt safe.

Geralt inhaled Regis' smell, and it seemed to find its way into the deepest parts of him. His throat felt tight, and the things he had been burying were coming alive inside his mind. His heart picked up its space, as if it was absorbing every bit of warmth Regis was giving him, and going wild with it. How many times had he been inspected by Regis? And every time Geralt had secretly hoped he would abandon his professionalism for a small moment and let him feel more human.

He felt Regis smile against his neck, and his traitorous body interpreted the feeling as good and something that he needed more than anything right now.

Regis pulled back, but not unkindly. His hands stayed on Geralt's shoulders and he looked curiously in his eyes. Geralt fought against his age-old habit of blushing, failing once again. Even in the dark, Regis must have seen it all in perfect clarity, because his eyes widened fractionally.

”What are you thinking about, Geralt?” he whispered, smiling.

Geralt opened him mouth, but nothing came out. Regis didn't make a move to pull away, and Geralt realized how close they were.

”You,” he finally managed to answer, his throat gone very dry.

Regis smiled gently, and pulled him close once more, resting his forehead against his. His right hand's thumb stroked once down Geralt's cheek, and he felt like it was leaving a trail of sparks in its wake.

”I confess I'm pleasantly surprised, but not overtly shocked,” Regis whispered. ”But I think we need not rush this. If I were to have you, I want to have all of you, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt swallowed and nodded, mind blown blank by a vast expanse of new possibilities. He had hoped, maybe ever since Regis had come back, had became his friend... And it was actually a possibility? Even considering it made him dizzy with hope, it lifted some of the looming shadow over his heart.

”I... I know. I have stuff to do. But... After everything-”

”I am not going anywhere,” Regis interrupted, sensing his worries once again and doing his best to alleviate the hurt. ”I am merely saying we are not ready for this now, that the time is not right. But-” he continued and met Geralt's gaze steadily. ”We will be, and we can have this, if we both so desire.”

Regis kissed his forehead gently and bid him good night. Geralt remained there, body alight with something warm and fragile.

 

**II**

After they finally, finally left Toussaint, the hope had been all but buried under the worries and tangles of emotions. True, Geralt had bedded Fringilla Vigo when he simply could not stand being alone anymore and was starving for something, anything that would make things feel more real. It did not really help, only ensnared him in her personal ploys, but after hearing about Yennefer and Ciri none of that mattered anyway.

Milva, Cahir, and Angoulême were happy to get moving again. They knew of his escapades with the sorceress and had categorized him accordingly, growing increasingly frustated as time dragged on. Regis had seen him struggle, but had given him space. He had been a solid presence, but they had kept each other at an arms' length, as if afraid of slipping into something that could not be retracted. Geralt had been torn, but ultimately unable to change anything.

_This is not the right time._

When they were moving again he felt a bit more like himself again. He had an uneasy feeling sitting at the bottom of his stomach during all those weeks. He needed to find Yennefer and Ciri, and if that degenerate Vilgefortz had harmed either, he would surely lose it. They had been bound together for so long already. Losing his love for Yen had been bad enough, because despite the difficulties, it had given him something solid to hang on to. He still thought of them as a unit, a family of surprise, and he needed them desperately.

Regis, who rode by his side as usual, kept sneaking glances at him the whole way. He looked grim but determined, and having him there was a comfort. Geralt had not dared to trust him to stay, but stay Regis did.

Shortly before they reached the Stygga castle he ordered everyone to prepare and get a small moment of rest. It was killing him to stop when they were so close, but they had been going almost non-stop to reach the place in time, and the logical part of his brain knew it would be stupid to rush into battle when they were not fully ready.

The emotional part of his brain was protesting this, even as he set to honing his blade. In fact, his head felt like a Nekker nest in full riot. He tried to breathe, tell himself that not all was lost, that they had time, and hope-

”Geralt, my friend. A moment?” Regis asked from behind, making him jump. He must have been wound up tight to miss his approach. Geralt got up and dusted his pants, acutely aware of how haggard he must look to his friends.

Regis led him a short way away, between some trees. He regarded Geralt for a while, looking worried about something.

”What?” Geralt finally snapped, when he couldn't take the silence any longer. His mind felt frayed and thin, drifting away from him no matter how hard he tried to hold it down. Regis grasped his satchel's strap, and from that Geralt knew he was... Nervous?

”I find myself indecisive,” Regis said in a low voice. His black eyes were unwavering, fixed on Geralt.

Geralt's stomach dropped and his blood grew cold. He had a few seconds to think that this was it, Regis was leaving after all, when the vampire rushed to explain: ”Not about staying, Geralt. Never about that. I am troubled by what I told you earlier.”

Geralt had just about managed to recover from the flash of terror that had went through him, when Regis crowded him against a tree, holding him very close.

”I can't help but feel I have made a mistake. Perhaps I should have allowed this thing between us to grow and blossom earlier,” he whispered, looking at him with something Geralt could not decipher. Geralt could smell him though, and it calmed him despite the fact that Regis' words were sending shivers down his spine.

”I feel terribly selfish to bring this up now, but sometimes even us higher vampires must act foolishly,” Regis continued, and for a small second his gaze dropped to Geralt's mouth.

Geralt surged forward and kissed Regis. His hands found their way into his hair, and some of the tension bled away. Regis held him, and kissed him, and for that short while he dared to hope. The vampire felt strong and unshakeable, and his hair was soft under his calloused hands.

It was a sweet, long kiss, but it ended too soon. Regis looked a bit flushed, and Geralt felt his cheeks burn. He managed a small, genuine smile.

”Don't talk like that, Regis.”

”I'm prone to melancholy, as you must have surmised by now,” Regis answered, stroking his cheek.

”I'll have to see that remedied in the future, then,” Geralt answered. Stepping away from Regis was hard, but time was running away from them. Regis let him go, and looked a bit mischievous underneath the longing.

”Oh, but how I wait for that.”

***

Geralt fought his way to get Yennefer, not because he loved her, but because he loved Ciri, and he knew what she meant to her. He felt bestial and savage, hacking through one man after another until Yennefer was free. He embraced her shortly, out of relief, and then they were off again. He felt scared, despite all of his mutations.

His conscious mind retreated from the forefront, as often happened when he was in over his head. However, some part of him followed ever so carefully were Regis was. Seeing him fight equally ferociously gave him hope, which he did not dare to grasp just yet.

And then they reached Vilgefortz.

***

He vaguely remembers watching Regis burn, burn impossibly bright. He feels like his heart burns, too. What follows is a long while with no real feelings attached to any of the memories.

 


	3. Not a Story to Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own nuthin'. Some lines have been borrowed from the Blood And Wine expansion, but I'm abusing the canon as much as I need to get my happy ending.  
> The lines about the language of flowers were borrowed from here: http://zyanya.wikidot.com/forum/t-101893
> 
> So here we go, we get to the beginning of the B&W expansion now. From here on out, it will be a re-telling of the story.  
> Enjoy. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧.

**I**

Watching Ciri go towards the black banners wrenches something loose inside him. He's swept up on a storm (not unlike the one Yennefer threw at him in Kaer Morhen, dropping him in the lake.) It's been so long since he had felt anything that strongly, and his first instinct is to look for some yet-unseen enemy for explanation. When he realizes he is crushing under something enormous that originates from within, he turns heel and walks, half runs, back into the forest.

He makes it further than he thought before he has to stop and drop his weight against a tree. Something is clawing its way out of him and he doesn't know how to handle it. Geralt smacks the frozen ground but only manages to bruise his knuckles, the pain not anchoring him at all. He knows he's happy Ciri has made a decision of her own and is following her heart, but now it is all over. He is no longer part of her story, or any story for that matter. He is left over.

Then the grief punches its way out of, and Geralt can only double over and let the pain wash over him. He doesn't feel like he's crying, but it all comes pouring out. He thinks of everyone who is now dead. He thinks of his friends who helped him, who stood by his side. He thinks of Vesemir, whose medallion Ciri will surely carry with her when she becomes empress. He thinks of Yen and Triss, how he managed to help them both. He thinks of Lambert and Keira, and how much them finding each other made him and Eskel laugh. He thinks of Eskel who is steadfast and loyal, and _alive_ , somewhere.

And then his mind digs up Regis, of whom he has not let himself think about at all after he died. A sound escapes Geralt's mouth, something that's raw and broken, because _he_ is raw and broken. After everything, after all the difficulties, horrors, and years, now he would finally be in that place where Regis had said they could try being together. _Took me a while,_ he thinks inanely. It has been so long, but to Geralt it feels like he remembers every single detail about him.

It is unfair and horrible to go through it all, but he can't stop the memories from coming. He allows them to drown him, lets them simply come and go, acknowledging both the good and the bad ones. He's vaguely surprised how much he can recall, even after many years of not letting his mind dwell on anything related to Regis.

He alternates between smiling and crying, until his mind has emptied itself out. When there finally is nothing more to dredge up, he actually feels a bit better. He sits up straighter and looks to the darkening sky. It's cold, and his breath mists the first stars from view. It's going to be a cold and clear night, just the way he has always liked. Finally he scrapes his frozen ass off the ground, trying to rub some feeling back into his hands. He's fairly certain Dandelion and Zoltan have sent out a dozen search parties by now.

After receiving several earfuls from his worried friends, Geralt escapes the inn once more. Dandelion looks ready to protest when he informs them he is going for a walk _by himself_ , but thank gods Zoltan seems to catch on to his mood and shoos him outside, promising to wait for him with a pint of ale. Geralt smiles at them, then, feeling the sort of joy he thought lost forever. A simple, light brush of happiness that comes from sharing stories and playing Gwent. It warms him to the core, as he begins to realize they made it. Not without losses, but the war is finally over and the rebuilding of lives has already begun without him noticing.

He wanders out into the small town roads of White Orchard. His mind is very quiet after the outburst, and it feels easier to let his thoughts ust drift. The townspeople have already retired for the night, so he can roam freely and without anyone hissing insults at him. He passes the dwarf smith's forge, and the small contract he did ages ago makes him grimace. People can be cruel in big cities as well as in small villages. He wonders whether the people of White Orchard have ever forgiven the smith.

He almost walks past the noticeboard, but a big parchment of exceptional quality catches his attention.

” _Appeal to Sir Geralt of Rivia...”_

Any reference to his official titles makes him scowl, but despite that he's already intrigued. He scowls some more at the Duchess' name, more out of habit than any real ire, and then yanks the appeal from the board. He folds it neatly inside his pocket and walks on, half-considering going to greet Mislav the hunter.

Maybe he will go to Toussaint.

***

He does go. He does small contracts on his way to the Stonecutters' settlement, not even pretending to hurry. It takes him some time, but he uses it to catch up on local news (the smallfolk are settling in after the war an,d as always, are fundamentally kind of indifferent to who rules as long as they can worship their own gods and live their own lives in peace) and play Gwent in every single inn between White Orchard and Oxenfurt (he manages to win a special card, Dandelion of all people, and nearly chokes on his ale laughing.)

As he rides alongside Palmerin de Launfal and Milton de Peyrac-Peyran, he feels like he's stripping off old skins he has been wearing for too long. What emerges is still Geralt, but a tiny bit less burdened. Each day brings them closer to Toussaint, and despite Anna Henrietta's impatience to get her hands on the master witcher, the pace the knights-errant set is nowhere near the breakneck speed he has been racing for years on end. It's a balm to his mind.

They ride exchanging stories, fighting a few stupid bandits and more than their share of necrophages (damn Emhyr and his wars, Geralt thinks), and enjoying each others' company. In some small ways, it reminds Geralt of his days with the hansa. The thought doesn't sit right with him, but he can't deny it either. Cold weather gives way to warmer winds sooner than he expects. The winter has slipped away from him.

Arrival to Toussaint brings things back to normal tracks. Geralt almost anticipates getting dragged into solving the mystery of the Beast immediately, but the speed at which the events start to unfold makes him first roll his eyes and then get worried. He had expected to be dealing with something feral, something senseless that lurks in the Beauclair sewers or someplace equally delightful; instead, everything he finds out points to a sentient creature, and those are always more complicated. Usually way more dangerous, too.

As he races against time with the duchess to find the clues and save Milton, he feels the familiar focus slip into place. This is familiar, this he knows; he is needed to save someone, and that he can and will do. The thought is comforting. After feeling lost, he is again part of something bigger than himself. Despite Vesemir's words of maintaining neutrality, he has always excelled in the stories that carry more weight than average monster contracts.

***

He steps into the warehouse, wary and sword in hand. He knows he is dealing with something extremely dangerous by now. Deep inside he already knows what kind of dangerous, but he wants to be sure before resigning himself to that particular kind of destruction.

”I am here,” a rough voice says, and Geralt whirls around. His heart sinks in his chest, because he knows without a shadow of doubt the figure looming above him is what he feared. A higher vampire, and one who bears no resemblance whatsoever to his departed friend. Regis' words drift on the edges of his mind, something about higher vampires being hard to classify because each of them is unique.

He has black, curling hair and a face that is twisted with anger. When he speaks, his voice is dripping with contempt. He prowls the upper level of the warehouse, resembling more a beast ready to tear into him than a sentient, highly-intelligent being. Even in his human form, he looks less human than Regis ever did.

”Not here to talk about me,” Geralt answers him, stopping his train of thought and knowing full well he can never hope to get through to this particular vampire. This one has hatred in his eyes, but there is also grief, and that can make even lesser beings behave irrationally.

As the Beast materializes behind him, Geralt is almost too late to bring his sword up to block his first strike. The vampire shifts into his true form, his human face disappearing entirely. Geralt knows he's in deep shit, his subconscious already preparing to battle until the end.

The vampire fights like an animal, too, twisting in and out of thin air and striking at him with badly contained rage. He doesn't speak a word, simply pushes Geralt back time and again, slashing at him and growling deep in his throat. Geralt drops into his battle trance and lets his conscious mind take a step back, managing to keep up. But it only works for a while, because the vampire grows frustrated, his elongated, razor-sharp claws catching him more and more often. He seems intent to kill without mercy, simply to dispose of him.

And then he vanishes altogether. Geralt keeps his sword ready, panting and turning around, but there is nothing. He can't let himself relax. He is absolutely certain the vampire is looking for an opening. But he is bleeding and finally, when he turns again, he senses a minute change in the air flow, right behind him; he _knows_ he will not be quick enough.

He turns and sees the claws rushing towards his chest, has a split second to think of Ciri, and then someone materializes in front of him, letting themselves be impaled. He starts towards them, when the vampire speaks, voice hoarse from shock and anger.

”You were to stay were you were! Regenerate!” It's the first semblance of human feelings he can hear in his speech, the distress and alarm make it crack. And then the other man, the one who must be dying right now, opens his mouth, and Geralt halts, because-

”I know you're in trouble. I can help.”

The voice doesn't resemble the dying gurgle of a man drawing his last breaths. His voice is agitated but smooth, and painfully familiar.

”I'll help myself,” the vampire snarls and makes a movement to draw his fist from the man's chest cavity. He only grips the vampire tighter.

”No. He is my friend.”

The vampire snarls again, and then rushes out in a cloud of black and red mist. Geralt follows it with his eyes out of instinct, but the enemy is truly gone for now. He lets his sword come down, releasing the breath he had been holding. Feeling begins to creep back into his body as his animal brain realizes it will probably not be dying in the following few minutes. He turns his head towards the other man, watches as the mortal wound knits itself back together, and he is thrown back so many years. A strained sound escapes from him.

Regis turns around, giving a last glance at his wound, which has almost closed now.

”Yes, Geralt. It's me.”

Geralt feels the world give a funny little twist when he sees his face. He registers the eyes, they are exactly as they were then. Black and kind.

”Regis?” His voice catches in his throat. He almost drops his sword, which would probably make Vesemir roll over in his grave, had he been buried and not cremated.

”I'm alright, wounds like this are no trouble for higher vampires,” Regis says quietly, but it's clear he is not talking about the wound, not really. Geralt feels his feet move, and then he is hugging Regis, smearing his new armor with his friend's blood. He tucks his head near Regis' neck and inhales, and _yes_ , it is him. Sweet Melitele, it is really him. He feels Regis grip him so tight it almost hurts, his breathing sounding shaky.

They stay like that for a long time, Geralt trying to absorb it all. He can't believe it. He _wants_ to believe it all, without any questions. He can feel a slow smile working its way into his face, and it feels like he has not smiled like that since...

”I'm so sorry,” Regis whispers.

”For what?” Geralt asks, loosening his grip a bit so he can look Regis in the eyes. The vampire looks vulnerable. His hair has more gray than black in it, but it is still stubbornly curly. Geralt wants to run his fingers through it, to know if it feels the same as back then.

”For leaving you, of course,” he whispers.

Then he kisses Geralt, and nothing matters for a short while. It feels the same, only now Geralt can fully appreciate it. Regis kisses him like he is the only thing that matters in the world, and he feels cherished. He tries to convey his own feelings, although he knows they are probably a horrid mess right now.

When they break apart, Regis is smiling a crooked smile and his eyes a glistening. Geralt knows he must look the same.

”I'm sorry Geralt, but we have urgent matters to discuss,” Regis sighs, but does not let him go. ”I will explain everything later, I promise. We must talk about the reason that brought you here, before the guards make it this far.”

Geralt nods and although it feels bad, steps back. Regis' arm shoots out and he grabs his hand in his, smoothing a thumb over his scarred knuckles, as if not bearing the thought of not getting to touch him.

”The reason I came back to life is the same one you hunt, Geralt,” he says. ”His name is Dettlaff van der Eretein, and I fear he is in serious trouble.”

Geralt listens to Regis' explanation, and can't stop himself arguing with him (so that part, too, remains selfsame.) He wants to believe Regis, badly, but his instincts prevent it. Regis starts pacing, and Geralt can still recognize that behavior and his expression: it's the one the vampire wears when he is absolutely, hundred percent sure he is right and determined to make Geralt see this as well. It would be endearing if it wasn't so damn irritating.

He stops Regis' restless movement when he comes close enough by simply standing in his way. A smile crosses Regis' face and he does stand his ground. He tells him about the fiend and then gets to the point that sits uneasy with Geralt.

”Dettlaff found my remains and had a choice, as per our codex. He chose to nurture my remains, at no small cost to his own blood. Do you know the gravity of this?” Regis says, quieter now. He reaches out and grasps Geralt's hands again.

”You owe him your life.” _And I owe him, as well._

”The act made us blood brethren, a bond so strong humans cannot understand it. Which is why I know something ill is afoot.”

The words shouldn't hurt, because Regis is simply being honest with him. But they burn on their way, leaving him feeling hollow and acrid. He hides this, or tries to, but Regis has apparently regenerated also his annoying skill of knowing exactly what Geralt feels at any given time. He squeezes his hands and when Geralt doesn't immediately meet his eyes, his hand caresses his cheek, gently lifting his gaze.

”Please do not hold this against him or me. He gave me my life back, and in doing so gave me a chance to have you back as well.”

Geralt nods, knowing he will try, simply because Regis asks him to.

He can't, however, stop arguing against Dettlaff's actions. He's glad Regis does not condone them, and he ends up agreeing with his friend to find out what upset Dettlaff, if only to get him to calm down and shut up before the posse reaches the warehouse.

When they part, Regis brushes his hand against his before dissolving into grey mist and disappearing. Watching him go sends a stab of worry through Geralt even when he knows they will meet again shortly.

He wants to deal with the guards as quickly as possible, but in the end they manage to keep him for a while. He is sad to hear baron de Peyrac-Peyran is dead. The thoughts of trying to find his killer and reason with him sit uneasy in his gut.

When he finally departs, he is in possession of a crudely drawn map to the Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery he acquired from one of the knights. The man seemed curious as to why he would want to visit the place, but believed his bullshit lie about clues and whatnot. Geralt was past caring, frankly. He was tired and worried, but also feeling hopeful in a way he could not remember experiencing before.

 

**II**

The way was not too long, so he decided to go the same night. Not like he had anywhere else to be, and the vineyard the duchess had gifted him could very well wait. Geralt took the time to clean his wounds and bandage those that required it before setting off. It seemed like the responsible thing to do, and he didn't want Regis to fret about those when they could...

What, exactly?

He stopped walking then and sat down on a rock, on top of a hill that offered a beautiful view of the valley beyond. Night was falling, and the air was pleasant and warm. He watched the sky for a while, trying to make sense of the situation. For all intents and purposes, Regis _had_ died back then. And while Geralt had not exactly allowed himself to mourn the vampire, he had moved through his life with Regis' death as a fact. He had not been waiting all this time (because what could he have been waiting for?) And yet... He had not resisted at all when Regis had kissed him. It was like picking up where they left off.

And that was the part that was confusing and inconvenient. For Geralt, it could be said they were truly continuing what they had started then, but Regis had been alive and regenerating for years, as far he knew. Many things could happen in less time, he if anyone knew that.

Geralt sighed and rubbed his eyes before getting up and continuing towards his destination. He didn't mind the kiss, but he needed to know where they stood. He needed to know who this Dettlaff was, and what he and the unbreakable bond meant to Regis. He had heard Regis mention something of it in passing, when he had set out to dispel the most outrageous myths about vampires, but Geralt could not recall details. Thinking about it made him feel petty, but he decided he was going to be honest with himself at least. For now, he could only admit he felt almost jealous.

He remembered how Hazair had scolded him for burying his emotions in the beginning. He had called it childish and, more importantly, dangerous.

” _It's how many a witcher gets himself killed, Geralt. They refuse to feel stuff, claim they can't when that's horseshit, and then they boil over when they'd need a level head. So let it come, and when you've dealt with it, let it go. And if it's a good feeling, hold on to it by all means. Anything to get you through the day.”_

He smiled, the memory of Hazair and his way of caring for him when he had been young and stupid warming him. And then it made his cheeks redden slightly, because he could never separate the care from the carnal side of it. It would have defeated the purpose, he mused as he walked on. At the end of the day, he knew himself pretty well. He knew how to care for his friends. He had cared for Ciri the best he could, for as long as he was required to. And he had once known how to care for a lover in a way that didn't leave him feeling hollow inside.

***

He found Regis in his crypt and couldn't deny the joy that rose within him when he ribbed the vampire about his choice of residence. It was familiar and long-missed, this banter and the easy way they navigated the space around each other. He didn't even complain about the kikimores, which was saying something. As he approached Regis, he felt the same pull towards him as before. It would have been so easy to follow it and damn everything else, but he had a job to do. And if Regis was bound to Dettlaff, he had to take some precautions, no matter how much it stung.

”Regis,” he said quietly. The vampire looked him, a knowing expression on his face. ”I want to talk about this...thing between us, believe me. But I need to know how things stand before I can do that.”

”Naturally. It would be unfair and cruel to assume otherwise,” Regis answered, smiling sadly and clutching the satchel's strap. ”To begin with, I am sorry I kissed you earlier without asking for your consent. It had been so long, and as I told you long ago, sometimes even higher vampires are wont to behave like-”

”Humans.” Geralt interrupted him, smiling now. ”No need to apologize, Regis. I didn't mind. Gods, I wouldn't-” he made himself stop before he broke all his own rules he had just laid out. Regis chuckled and sat down in what looked like a library nook of his crypt-turned-residence.

”So. Uh, anyway,” Geralt continued eloquently. ”We need to find Dettlaff.”

Regis hummed. ”Indeed. But the real question is: What does Dettlaff want? He will not be found if he is not willing.”

Geralt knew that, of course, but hearing Regis say it made it a real obstacle. He knew higher vampires could evade any kind of detection spells. Hell, his amulet sat nice and quiet when there was a higher vampire less than two meters away from him.

”Recognize this?” he asked instead, pulling the severed hand he had found in Corvo Bianco from his bag. He saw Regis' eyes widen. He also noticed they were immediately drawn to the ring.

”Yes. This changes things.” Regis studied the hand gently, turning it over in his hands before he pried the ring off. ”This used to be mine. And before that, it belonged to a dear friend of mine.” Regis paused, examining the ring. ”He is a...humanist, you might call him. He thought us vampires owed respect to humans and the elder races of this world.”

Geralt lifted an eyebrow and couldn't help but ask: ”You mean instead of treating us like cattle, only fit for feeding on?”

”Precisely.” Regis smiled, knowing full well Geralt grasped his meaning. ”He was a key person in my own reform. And I, in turn, gifted the ring to Dettlaff. I hoped to remind him of these ideals.”

Geralt didn't feel like answering that. ”What do you plan to do with the hand?” he asked instead.

”You've heard of Covinarius' theory of tissue memory retention?”

At that point in his life, Geralt could not be bothered to be surprised Regis had corresponded with _Covinarius_. He listened to him speaking, and noticed how much he could enjoy something as simple as listening to Regis explain something complicated to him. In the past, Regis' lectures had often exasperated him, but now he felt like he should tuck everything he received into some safe place and guard it like a treasure.

Regis had even stood up again and started pacing, a sure sign he was excited. Geralt listened to him, taking it all in. Regis looked older, but he moved with the same ease, like he knew exactly where his feet were taking him. Geralt knew it wasn't the case every time, but the sight felt comforting nonetheless. He also knew Regis knew he was watching him more carefully than before, but he did not seem to mind; if anything, he greatly enjoyed having his undivided attention.

 

**III**

”We do need help, I think,” Regis said. ”I will consult a friend.”

”A friend?” Geralt asked, feeling doubtful. Regis smiled.

”Come and see for yourself,” he answered.

Geralt followed him up the crypt stairs. The night had truly fallen while they had been talking. Regis whistled quietly, and a raven flew down from a big tree. It was a beautiful bird, black and shiny in the light of the crescent moon. Regis seemed to only stare at it, his eyes half-closed, but Geralt sensed something else: Like an undercurrent of communication taking place on a frequency he could not hear very well.

”He and his brethren will keep an eye out for us,” Regis said after a moment, and the bird took wing. The soft _woosh woosh_ of its wings disappeared into the night. ”Follow me?” the vampire asked, and Geralt did.

Regis took him to a tiny clearing with fewer tombs and soft grass. He sat down, gesturing for Geralt to take a seat on a tomb in front of him. Geralt decided he could risk the wrath of a dead person for using their fallen headstone as a bench, and sat down.

”Now, I think we have some time to discuss the things you mentioned earlier,” Regis said, looking at Geralt. ”I believe you want to know more about my regeneration and my relationship with Dettlaff.”

Geralt nodded, suddenly feeling almost shy. Regis smiled at him, reaching into his satchel.

”I have resumed my hobbies, and while I wouldn't dream of trying to get you drunk for this conversation, would you care for a snifter?”

Geralt barked a laugh. Regis and his mandrake moonshine. It took him back. The taste was almost the same as it had been, when they had only just met and he had been apprehensive about the odd gentleman they had dragged out of a hole in the Fen Carn graveyard.

”If I had any doubts about your true identity, they have been absolved,” he told Regis, feeling the hooch burn its way down. For some reason, Regis looked down at his feet at that, almost embarrassed.

”It's...funny you should mention that. For a long while after I started my regeneration, I felt somewhat unreal, unsure about my identity. You see, when you are stripped of all your senses and lose the world around you, you can easily lose your sense of self as well.”

Regis leaned his elbows to his knees and looked at the soft, grassy ground. ”It was a long while of darkness, Geralt. My last memory of the battle is seeing the flames coming at me and feeling the pain, and then there is nothing. I was not dead, but as good as that. I was beyond my own regenerative abilities, so what was left of me resigned to nonexistence.”

Geralt felt cold. He couldn't have known Regis had not been dead, he'd had no idea. Still, the thought of him leaving Regis there alone made him feel sick. He opened his mouth, but Regis beat him to it, his face stern.

”You did not know. Let it be known I never blamed you. Never, not for a single moment. Geralt, you _will not_ take blame for this.” His voice was quiet, but laced with iron. Geralt swallowed his words, but not all of the sadness. He had carried the guilt for his friends' deaths all these years, and putting even one of them to rest felt impossible.

”I don't know how long I was there, in the dark. But in the end, Dettlaff found me. He chose to help me when he had no reason to.”

And there it was again. The hot, burning anger. It was not directed at Regis or Dettlaff, but at himself. It was an impotent kind of rage that rose from within. Geralt sprung up from his makeshift bench and made to walk away. He felt disgusted with himself, for being absolutely incapable to help Regis. It galled him to think he could not even have tried to; it went against everything he thought of as his personality.

The vampire caught him before he could get more than a half a step away.

”Please.” Regis' voice was soft as he held on to his hand. ”Let me finish. Afterwards, you are free to do as you please. I have waited for this conversation ever since I learned you were alive, and I will not forgive myself if I get it wrong.” He sighed and smiled ruefully. ”I have had a long time to practice my lines.”

A smile tugged at Geralt's lips, and he felt a bit foolish. He owed this to Regis. He squeezed his hands and pulled him down to sit next to him. It felt easier to sit close to him, like he could be sure Regis was alive and he was not talking to a mirage.

Regis leaned on him, seemingly unable to help himself. A soft sigh escaped him.

”Helping a higher vampire to regenerate from the degree of damage I suffered requires one to give their life blood, several times over. It is usually not done, unless the one needing resurrection is kin, or a loved one. Dettlaff did it for a person he knew distantly and had absolutely no reason to love,” Regis continued, his head finding a place on Geralt's shoulder.

”You see, we knew each other. Dettlaff had been the one who first told me I was wrong with my ways. He had been with us for a fleeting moment, back when I was still entangled in my addiction. He saw me struggling and for some reason he felt the need to offer me some advice. He left long before I ended up being bludgeoned to pieces and thus spending some well-earned years underground.

Afterwards, we had not seen each other. But I know now he had been keeping an eye on me, for when he found me, he did not hesitate. I could not comprehend it, when I regained enough of my senses to realize who my savior was. He believed in me in a way I had not experienced before.” Regis shook his head at the thought and added, looking at the witcher: ”Counting out you, of course.”

Geralt's breath caught at that. What had he done? Lusted after Regis, when Dettlaff had brought him back from the almost-literal death.

Regis saw his expression and brought his gloved hand to his face, turning it towards himself.

”You accepted me as a friend, even after I had started our acquaintance with a lie. After that, you always gave me the benefit of the doubt, even when it stood against all you had been told. And then you _fell for me_. It had never happened before, in all my four hundred years. I thought I was alone with my feelings and unlovable, and then you came forward with your heart. It was monumental.”

He must have seen Geralt's expression, because he laughed and his eyes sparkled with familiar mischief. ”I played it down, then. I had been quite taken with you since you discovered me hiding in that graveyard.”

”I didn't know-”

”Because I did not tell you,” Regis finished for him, still smiling.

”Dettlaff gave me his blood because he believed in me. We are bound together. But that is a bond of brotherhood and respect of the deepest kind. I owe him my life and every second chance I get to have.”

Regis stroked his cheek, the movement seemingly unconscious and easy. Geralt's chest felt tight and full of something hot.

”I... I didn't wait for you.”

”I was dead to you, Geralt!” Regis exclaimed, squeezing his arm with his other hand. ”I never expected you to. Not for a moment. I spent a long time being only able to wait and think about my life, and I always knew I could not hope to hold any claim to you. This is the truth of it, and I beg of you to believe it.”

Geralt sighed and closed his eyes. He leaned on Regis' hand, which still rested on his cheek.

”I couldn't mourn you, you know that? I tried to acknowledge it a few times and felt like I would be ripped open. I knew it, of course, but until Ciri was safe and I couldn't do anything about her fate anymore, I simply couldn't bear to face it,” Geralt told him, not opening his eyes. When he finally dared to take a look, he saw Regis' eyes were glistening.

”How is she?” he asked, still keenly interested after all these years.

”Good. Very good, in fact. She's gonna make a fine empress,” Geralt said, and it choked him only a little to utter those words. Maybe he was finally beginning to accept her choice. Baby steps and all that. Regis smiled, looking at him like he was something worthwhile instead of the selfish and simple human he felt like.

”You did not approve of that decision, but you support her nonetheless,” he stated, still able to read Geralt's moods and thoughts accurately.

”I want to kiss you,” he continued, sounding breathless. ”I have had years to ponder my feelings and they always come back to the same core; I am as helplessly drawn to you now as I was all those years ago. You have more scars and you look a bit sadder, but you are still the man I fell for.”

Geralt thought his heart might stop beating, then. All the years did not seem to matter, because he had got Regis back. He was there, and he was looking at him with fire in his eyes.

Geralt pressed his lips to Regis' softly, cautiously. Regis let out a sigh that seemed to carry out years' worth of worries, and then kissed him back, wrapping his hands around him. For all his words about not being back to his full strength, Geralt felt safe.

When they finally broke off, Regis' cheeks were as close to pink as they would get. Geralt was sure his own were about the color of a stormy day's sunrise.

”Would you like to come to my bed, Geralt?” Regis asked, sounding like he had just been favoured by some unimaginable luck. It was such an innocent way to put it, but Geralt flushed with pleasure. He had been ready for it ever since Regis had told him they could have something together.

”No need to ask twice,” he chuckled. ”I would have come then, after the Yaruga business, without a second thought.”

Regis smiled, looking thrown back in memories.

”I had been indulging myself in wishful thinking and then your heartbeat gave you away. You had been newly knighted, if memory serves.”

Geralt grimaced. ”Ugh. Yeah. Not likely you will forget about that anytime soon?”

”Never.”

Regis drew him closer. His black eyes bore into his.

”And I meant what I said then. I would have all of you. Now more than ever.”

Geralt's brain shudddered to a halt. He felt himself go warm all over, but at the same time his secret reminded him of its existence. It was insistent this time, making his insides squirm. He had hid it with Yen, and their relationship had gone up in flames. He'd had an inkling she had always known she did not posses his whole heart, and it had driven her crazy. He could not take the risk now. Losing Regis for a second time would end him.

Regis felt him hesitate.

”What is it?” he asked, not letting him go. ”Tell me. There is precious little in this world I could not stand to lose, and you are among those things. Whatever it is, I will do my best to understand.”

”I-” he started, but the words would not come. It had been too long. He had lost the easy way with words Hazair had taught him.

But he needed to tell Regis now, before they got too close. If it was not something Regis could not understand, they could never be together. It was so clear. It hurt like a nekker bite to neck (and he had experienced that), but he could not let it be. If the thing with Regis started without honesty, it would end before it had run its course.

Regis regarded him without hurry. His hands were clasped together behind his back, holding him against him. He let his head fall, his brow touching Geralt's.

”Please, tell me. You know I would never judge you for anything lightly.”

Geralt drew several deep breaths. This was Regis. He would not back away with disgust.

”Would you read my mind, if I asked you to?”

He saw Regis' eyes widen, his mouth fall open.

He had told him, at the very beginning of their friendship, that it would be over the moment Regis invaded his head. End of story, no exceptions. Geralt's mind was his own, and no soul in the wide world could hope to gain unlimited access to it. Yen had never respected his wish, and it had hurt much more than he had ever admitted.

Regis fumbled for words. He knew the gravity of Geralt's request.

”Only the parts you wish to show,” he finally answered. ”And only if you are absolutely certain you wish to share them.”

He remembered Geralt's ultimatum, too.

”Yeah. I have something I need to tell you, but I can't find the words. They have been lost along the way,” Geralt tried for a joke but it fell flat. Regis tightened his grip.

”If you are certain...”

”I am, Regis. You can do it.”

Regis cleared his throat, looking tense.

”In that case, please concentrate on the memories you wish to show. I can navigate their trails once I am...inside, so to speak. I promise you I will not get lost.”

Geralt sighed, feeling suddenly very empty. This was it. He would lay himself bare in front of Regis, and it could make or break everything.

”Go ahead.”

He closed his eyes, and summoned the memory of himself in Kaer Morhen.

***

_He was young and agitated. He tried to eat, but his mind was racing, going over the details of his last contract. He had not managed to save the boy. He could have done it, damn it, had he not been so keen to dispose of the wraith. The thing had been the little one's mother, for god's sake. Of course the boy had thought she could be brought back. He clenched his hands into fists, his mind bringing back the images of the mutilated young body._

_There was a voice, like liquid smoke._

_It managed to calm him, even when he felt like an intruder. Several times, in fact; he had not registered them consciously, but the voice had been there, in the periphery of his hearing. Each time it had brought his pulse down._

_***_

_They were sparring, and he was_ alive _. He was alive like he had been when he had seen Eskel stumble out of his room after the Trial of the Grasses, the last one to do so, and Geralt had rushed to him and hugged him; like he had been when his medallion had trembled against his chest the first time after the trial. He saw Hazair's pupils, they were blown wide, not resembling the cat-like slits at all. Only warm brown and deep, deep black._

_Hazair kissed him and he felt like he should resist, but he had always known. The girls were nice, they were beautiful, but if he were to choose, this would be it. Every single time._

_***_

_Hazair had Geralt on his knees, his mouth hovering over his dick. His hands were bound with dimeritium shackles; it was the first time they had tried them. The new sense of surrender was heady._

” _Remember the word? And the mark, three taps?” Hazair's voice was gentle, he was smiling even as his eyes were dark with passion._

_Geralt nodded, feeling brave._

_***_

” _Dahlia!”_

_Hazair stopped at once. Geralt had not been certain, until that moment, that he would. But everything ceased the instant he uttered the safeword._

_Hazair pulled out, so gently Geralt could not believe it, and then turned him over and took him in his arms. Geralt was ashamed to find he was crying. For fuck's sake, they had been doing this for weeks now, he should have been able to handle it._

_Hazair kissed his brow and stroked his hands through his hair. It had been dark before the extra mutagens they had made him to take._

” _Shh, Geralt. Shh. I am here. You are safe. It's all right.”_

_Geralt hiccuped and tried to calm down. They stayed like that for a long time._

” _Do you wish to talk about it?”_

” _No.”_

” _Do it anyway.”_

_Geralt had drawn in a breath, knowing by then that his excuses would not work here, and then told Hazair some bullshit story about his trials, something that didn't matter in the context. He had been so overwhelmed by the care the man had shown him he had simply cracked. He knew Hazair could read between the lines._

_***_

_He felt Hazair's nails tear into his skin. He was bent over the dresser, thrown there the instant he had walked through the door. The feeling of his nails drawing blood went straight into his cock, and he needed so much more. He moaned and pushed back against Hazair._

” _You've missed this, haven't you? I go away for a week to hunt a wyvern, and you're all ready to offer yourself after that?”_

” _Yes,” Geralt gasped. ”Yes. Yes.”_

” _Did you touch yourself in the meantime?”_

” _Yes.”_

” _Did you make yourself come?”_

” _N-no.”_

” _Why?”_

” _Because you told me not to.”_

” _How often?”_

” _Every fucking night.”_

 

**IV**

Geralt felt himself slump against Regis somewhere middle of the process. He had thought he would show him the basics, but it had all come pouring out, and in the end he had not minded at all. There had been nothing left to hide. Either Regis would understand or he would not. He had been honest, and that was what mattered. Geralt let himself be swept away by the memories. Somehow sensing Regis was inside his head made him relive them in a new fashion. He recalled many things he had forgotten, finding solace in them. It left him mentally exhausted.

The memory stream petered out slowly, and Geralt realized he had actually collapsed at some point. Regis had transferred them to the forest floor, and he was laying with his head in the vampire's lap. He opened his eyes and the sky swam above him. He closed his eyes again, fighting nausea.

”Geralt?” Regis' voice was gentle.

”Hn.”

He felt him chuckle slightly.

”I'm sorry. I did not know it would be so intense for you.”

Geralt opened one eye. Regis was smiling down at him.

”That was rather more than I was expecting,” he said, carding his long-clawed fingers through Geralt's hair. ”I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me. You have truly never shown that side to anyone else?”

Geralt shook his head.

”Yennefer?”

”No. It...wasn't right. I couldn't.”

He was feeling wary, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn't come.

”I will say something in return,” Regis said. Geralt saw the moon above them, and for a moment he wondered how his shadow might look, alone on the ground.

”I realize we are in an unusual situation. Nevertheless, I stand by what I said years ago. I would have you, and I would have all of you. I had not considered this side before, but living through your memories has woken something inside me.”

Geralt closed his eyes again when the world gave a funny little lurch. This time he suspected it wasn't because someone had just turned his head inside out. He felt lighter, almost giddy.

”If you would still have me, I'm all yours,” he said, feeling much better. He had dared, and for once the results were better than he had hoped.

Regis' eyes went dark. Geralt sat up and was nearly bowled over by a higher vampire who seemed to think they had no time to waste.

Regis pinned him to the ground and kissed him again, but this time he seemed braver. His tongue licked itself into Geralt's mouth, as if searching for something. Geralt did his best to offer answers by sliding his own tongue against Regis'. There was urgency in the kiss, but despite that both of them felt like they had finally time to explore each other. Geralt ran his hands through Regis' hair and was delighted to discover it was still soft. Regis hummed, clearly enjoying the touch.

Geralt felt heat stir low in his belly. He slipped his hands inside Regis' clothes, only to find the vampire could burn up like a human. When he finally managed to find skin, he let out a happy sigh. Regis shuddered at the contact.

”You feel so good,” he whispered, staring at Geralt. ”You have no idea.”

”Don't I?” Geralt challenged, grinding up slightly. He was met with growing hardness that sent a jolt of pleasure up his spine. Regis drew in a breath and dove down to suck kisses on his neck. He was careful with his teeth but the reaction was immediate. Geralt bared his neck for better access and let out a shaky breath. Regis took this as encouragement, and bit down, not breaking skin but hard enough to bruise.

The moment the pain hit Geralt felt a kind of quiet descend over him. It was a small thing, but the burn of the bite wiped some of his mind clean. After so many years, it was almost too much. He must have let out a sound, because Regis pulled off and looked at him. Whatever he saw on Geralt's face seemed to please him immensely.

” _Oh_ , I can definitely get used to this. My dear, I will take such good care of you.”

Geralt's hips bucked at that, and Regis' eyes went black as night. He then pinned Geralt's hands over his head with one hand, and held them there easily. His left hand caressed his stubbly cheek.

”We might need those words, my love. Will you explain them to me, before I have my way with you?”

Geralt realized Regis had been paying close attention to _all_ of his memories. It seemed very respectful, all things considered. He had been thinking of his safewords every now and then. He had always used those two, 'dahlia' and 'azalea,' and he decided it would be easiest to keep those.

”They are called safewords. If...if you want to play something, um, rough, simple 'stop' or 'no' might not do. Do you understand?” he started, a little distracted by Regis' nails, which were lightly scraping over his neck. Regis hummed and leaned over to favor him with a languid kiss.

”I see. If you want to play at being forced to do something, you want to use words as well as actions,” he hummed against Geralt's lips, and fuck, it sounded sexy when he put it to words. Geralt swallowed and tried to gather his thoughts.

”Basically, yeah. I have used 'dahlia' for 'stop immediately.' And 'azalea' for something like 'please keep going, but not any harder than this.'”

He heard Regis give a short laugh.

”Flowers. Clever, for that is indeed what they mean. ‘You have presumed too much,' or 'your attentions are not to my liking' are indeed what 'dahlia' stands for.” He kissed Geralt again, and when he saw the witcher was giving him a blank stare, he elaborated: ”Language of flowers. People often pass messages by sending each other flowers. Especially,” he said, and bowed his head to nip at Geralt's throat, ”when courting one another.”

”And azaleas?” Geralt asked, voice breathy, because of course Regis would know how to construct obscure messages from flowers.

”Hmm, azalea is usually used to call for moderation. ‘Please avoid extremes of speech and action,' so to say. Fits beautifully with what you said.”

Regis smiled down at him, gentle and hungry at the same time.

”I think I understand. I must confess that while I was watching your memories unfold, I was pleasantly surprised by your tastes.”

”How so?” Geralt asked, knowing something was about to happen.

”You see, I have been dreaming of how to put that gorgeous mouth of yours to good use. And finding out I can do just that but also make you beg for it, ask for all manners of things in fact, makes me want to...” Regis let his voice trail off, nuzzling his neck and breathing hotly. He then licked the spot he had bitten, before biting him again, harder this time.

Geralt's back arched, and he was rewarded with a glorious feeling of Regis' hard cock pressing against his through their clothes.

”...make you tell me exactly what you wish for me to do.” Regis breathed into his ear. ”I want you to tell me, in detail, all you wish for. If I'm satisfied, you might just get what you want.” With that, he pulled off, and sat down on the fallen headstone. With easy grace he shucked off his doublet and the tunic he wore underneath and stripped off his gloves, leaving his upper body naked and revealing just how much the idea of Geralt spouting off his dirtiest fantasies had turned him on.

”You may sit here,” he gestured at his feet, and Geralt immediately moved towards him. After all the difficulties they were finally here, and he was not about to waste any time.

”Take off your clothes, leave only your pants on,” Regis said in a low voice, looking down on him. His voice, usually smooth and flowing, had gained an edge. His eyes were almost swallowed by the black. Geralt could not help but steal glances at his body as he began to strip off his armor and shirts.

Regis had never been as bulky as he, which was only natural. The way they lived and fought were like night and day. He was not skinny, but his strength seemed somehow muted, almost hidden from plain sight. He had strong shoulders, which led to sinewy arms. His waist was very narrow, disappearing under his dark breeches.

”Like what you see?” Regis asked him, sounding amused. Geralt had been staring, but he only gave a wolfish grin as an answer. He did like it, by the gods. It didn't bother him that Regis was way older than him and smaller of frame; he had tried to yank his hands from his grip earlier and failed miserably. Underneath that gentleman's countenance lurked something that would best him in an instant, and the thought had him reeling. Even with Hazair, he had always stood a chance. The possibility of complete surrender felt almost dangerously alluring.

He finished stripping, tossing his undershirt aside, and leaned his head on Regis' thigh. Regis slipped his hand into his hair, loosening the string that held his hair out of the way. He corded his fingers through the silver strands and then gripped tight, the sting sending a jolt of pleasure through Geralt.

”Now, I believe, I asked you to entertain me,” he said, drawing Geralt's face level with his bulge. ”I want to hear what is on your mind and if I'm satisfied, you might get a taste.”

Geralt braced his hands on Regis' thighs, not daring to move them closer to his groin just yet. He swallowed, and as Regis tightened his grip, he fought back a moan.

”Speak to me, witcher.”

Geralt pulled his brain together with an enormous effort. His nose was brushing against the bulge in Regis' pants, and he could smell all of him. Arousal, herbs, skin, and something else, almost like the metal of his silver sword.

”I want to suck you,” he said, his voice rasping a bit. ”I want to start off slow, because you hold me back, only giving me a taste, making me chase it. I want you to fuck my mouth with shallow strokes, then deeper. You would forbid me touching myself, despite knowing I was going crazy.” He felt Regis' cock give a violent twitch, and heard him stifle a moan. He looked up, and was met with an open-mouthed stare that turned into a feral grin.

”My, you have been giving this quite some thought,” Regis laughed, twisting his hand just slightly in his hair. ”I admit I like where this is going.”

”It's... it's been on my mind for a long time,” Geralt confessed. It was true, too. When he had dared to hope he might get to have Regis in his bed, his mind had apparently busted something, and all kinds of filthy things had invaded his dreams. He had been boiling over all that time in Toussaint, and even when he had been in bed with Fringilla Vigo, he had really been thinking of someone else entirely.

Regis bit his lip and pulled his face against his throbbing cock, still unavailable to Geralt's attentions. ”See what you do to me?” he whispered. ”You can smell it too, I know you can. Hearing you recount your little fantasies is driving me crazy.”

Geralt mouthed at the shape through the fabric, drawing a little moan from Regis.

”Ever eager.” Then Regis fumbled open his pants and finally freed himself.

Geralt took it all in, Regis' hand still gripping his hair so hard he could not move an inch. Regis had a very nice cock, he decided, although he might be unqualified to have an objective opinion. It was curved and leaking for him, and that was as far as he got. Regis' grip loosened, and Geralt risked a glance at his face.

The vampire looked to be somewhere far away, looking at him like he was trying to commit every detail into his memory.

”Can I?” Geralt asked, his mouth hovering over the tip. ”Please,” he added, giving him a cheeky smile. Regis' focus snapped back from wherever it had momentarily fled, and he grinned back at him.

”I'd love you to show me what you can do, Geralt.”

Regis guided his mouth towards the head, wet with precome. The claws dug into his scalp, and Geralt knew Regis was giving him exactly what he had been asking for.

He licked along the head, trying to catch it in his mouth. The salty taste and Regis' moan took him back to his first time with Hazair. He had been afforded all the time in the world, and the master witcher had only later told him he had been ready to plough his mouth to oblivion and back after half an hour of gentle ministrations.

Geralt licked around and under the tip, enjoying the slick slide, absorbing the knowledge this was _Regis_ he was giving head to; it was a little surreal, but in a good way. Hearing him, feeling him, it was almost too much. Geralt's cock felt like it was leaking over, as it only did when he was aroused out of his mind. He continued, sucking on the head and flitting his tongue over the slit, alternating between heavier strokes and lighter teasing. It had been a while, but his body seemer to remember how to give pleasure to another man.

Regis let out a breath, shifted his hands to the back of Geralt's head, and he knew what was coming. His own cock gave a greedy little jump at the thought just before Regis pulled him in, pushing into his mouth. He slid his tongue under his shaft, twisting it back and forth as Regis continued moving. His own blunt nails dug into Regis' thighs, leaving angry red marks there. He closed his eyes and gave into the ebb and flow of the act, turned on beyond all thought by the mere thought of the image they must make: he, on his knees, and Regis fucking his mouth, gifting him with the noises he made.

He could feel Regis' cock stiffening even more, and he knew the vampire was close. He could see from the corner of his eye that Regis was looking at him reverently. Suddenly, he took a tight hold of his head, and pushed his cock still deeper. Geralt tried his best to relax his throat, working his tongue on the underside. It was hard after all the years of not getting any practice but he managed, and was rewarded by the sight of Regis' eyes forcing themselves shut as he came, whimpering and bucking.

Regis' grip went slack, and he slumped a bit. Geralt licked his lips and swallowed, feeling more alive than he had in several years. For a short while, he simply watched Regis trying to catch his breath, chest slick with sweat.

”You are inconceivably amazing,” he finally managed, looking at him there, kneeling between his legs. Geralt felt warmth bloom in his stomach and he nuzzled Regis' thigh. He felt content. Being allowed to do this was what he was really good at, and doing it with someone he adored as much as Regis made is even better.

Regis huffed a breath and looked him over. Geralt knew he looked a mess; his hair was sticking out, his lips were dark and spit-slick, and his whole torso must have been flushed with arousal. Regis, however, seemed pleased. His hand took hold of his jaw, turning his face left and right.

”My heart sings seeing you like this, still eager and hard for me.” It was true, Geralt's erection was throbbing inside his breeches. ”I adore your mouth, both for its abilities of pleasure and it being able to paint those fantasies for us to enjoy,” he continued.

Regis guided him to lie down on the grass. Deftly, he stripped the witcher of his pants and smallclothes, which were anyway ruined by then. Geralt had felt himself leaking over, especially when Regis had come into his mouth; it had been almost enough to send him over the edge. Hazair had managed it once, talking filthy things to him and making him suck his cock until he could not take it any more and had come without a stroke.

”You look delicious,” Regis grinned, taking in the sight of him. Geralt felt exposed, laying on the ground, legs spread and cock flushed dark, but he couldn't find it in himself to care; he was made for this, made for Regis.

”I think fucking you will be something special. You will feel tight around me, ready to let me in,” Regis whispered, stroking him lazily. His hands were gentle, but the glint in his eyes was even better: it was the look of someone who knew they had him completely under their control. He could either surrender right away or fight it, and both actions would yield the same outcome, Regis pounding into him.

”I will not do it today, though. I enjoy listening to those filthy things fall from your mouth, and you will tell me exactly how you want me to take you, and I _will_ take my time with it.” Regis smiled, his sharp teeth on full display. At the same time he gave Geralt's cock a little twist, his thumb smoothing over the head.

Geralt almost sobbed at that, because hearing Regis purr all those obscene words out for him was so good; his hips canted upwards, and he felt something go over the edge. He came, panting Regis' name. It would have been embarrassing to spend himself so easily, but he had been riding this particular high for what felt like hours. His pleasure crested, and then he came down slowly, opening his eyes to see Regis leaning over him. He looked extremely happy with himself. His eyes had returned to their human state, but they were filled with joy.

”You are amazing, Geralt.”

”Likewise,” Geralt chuckled, pulling him down for a kiss.

 


	4. Bad Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Blood and Wine stuff, the characters, all that, still not mine! Alas.
> 
> I finished this sucker! Boo-yah! Also, the vampiric equivalent of a cockfight is being subtly pissy and using finer turns of phrase than your opponent.

**I**

Geralt had been dozing against a tomb next to Regis' crypt when he heard the soft wings. The raven had returned and Regis offered up his arm for it to perch on. Again, Geralt could sense some communication taking place. Regis hummed, stroking the fowl's neck with one finger.

”Your senses are ever acute,” he called over, smiling.

”What do we have?” Geralt asked. He rose up, dusted his pants and walked over to Regis. The raven regarded him calmly and he gave it a smile. It seemed only like the polite thing to do.

”The kobold's eyes and mamune glands are indeed out of our present reach, as you suspected. But my friend here tells me of a spotted wight inhabiting an old manor house in the Caroberta Woods.”

Geralt scoffed.

”Spotted wights have been extinct for who knows how long. You know that, I told you-”

”The locals believe the place cursed, Geralt,” Regis interrupted him. ”It might well be the wight was left alone because no one has dared to approach its lair in all these years.”

”Find that hard to believe,” Geralt said, but he knew he would check the place out. Regis had that effect on him, apparently. ” _Fine_. I'm going. What will you do?”

Regis smiled at him, as if knowing Geralt was mostly doing this to get him off his back.

”I will stay here. I need to peruse some tomes. We are lacking another ingredient, which might prove troublesome. I'm hoping I can discover an alternative.”

Geralt saw Regis was not going to elaborate on the subject. He pulled the vampire close, giving him a light kiss on the lips.

”See you soon,” he murmured. He felt Regis lean on him, his hands clasping one another behind his back.

”Do be careful, Geralt,” he answered.

***

After delivering Marlene to Corvo Bianco and getting acquainted with mister Barnabas-Basil, Geralt mounted Roach again and headed back to the cemetery. He felt good about being able to help the woman. She had behaved cruelly and stupidly, but in his opinion she had suffered enough of a punishment. He hoped she would recover, and going by Barnabas-Basil's resolve to mend her, she very well could. Geralt was planning on offering her a place to stay after the worst had passed. Marlene had been in and out of it for the ride to the vineyard, but her lucid moments had proven she had a sharp mind and a gentle heart.

This time he didn't have to crawl through a monster nest to reach his lover's makeshift home. He found Regis leafing through a dusty book, but he seemed resigned. The search for the last ingredient was apparently not coming along very well.

”Got the saliva,” he said by a way of greeting. ”Also managed to save the wight.” Regis' eyes widened as he accepted the vial and examined the contents.

”Truly? Then it was a curse, after all.”

”Yeah. Marlene Trastamara was, I mean is, her name. Some beggar had cursed her.”

”Indeed. I recall hearing a tale about the lady of the estate going missing, now that you mention it. Where is she now?”

”At Corvo Bianco. My majordomo is looking after her.” He saw Regis' smile was widening into a grin and heaved a sigh. ”Yeah, Anna Henrietta saw it fit to gift me with a vineyard. You can mock me later.”

”Geralt of Rivia, a homeowner,” Regis mused, still grinning and clearly not keen to drop the subject. ”I would imagine it is not many a witcher who come to possess real estate.” He moved in, hugging Geralt. ”My birds told me you did well. I'm glad no one needed to be harmed.”

”Using your ravens to spy on me, Regis?” Geralt answered as he returned the hug, drawing in a long breath of the vampire's scent.

”Merely keeping an eye out on my lover. I would have come to your aid immediately, had things gone badly,” Regis hummed against his neck.

Hearing Regis call him his lover did something funny to Geralt's insides, even as he realized he had been referring to the vampire similarly inside his head. He decided to examine those thoughts later.

”So, what's this last ingredient we need?” he asked, finally pulling away. Regis grimaced.

”As it stands, we do have a problem. The concoction requires another sample of blood. It must come from the same species as the object of our search.”

Geralt shrugged, not understanding. ”Well, I happen to know one higher vampire who might be willing to help.” Regis shook his head.

”This is...different. You see, as higher vampires are not bound to their corporeal form, our blood is also prone to change depending on the situation. To put it simply, its chemical composition undergoes some rather drastic changes when one descends into, say, bestial rage.”

Geralt saw where this was going and he did not like it one bit.

”So, to get blood that would do the trick, we would... No, _you_ would need to...”

”Expose myself to a kind of bloodlust I have not felt in many years, yes,” Regis finished for him. He looked at his notes, his frown deepening.

”To make a long story short, I shall need to induce in myself a strong psychokinetic arousal. In brief, madness, rabidity. And that stands to be very, very dangerous.”

Geralt reached out a hand and Regis took it without hesitation.

”But you wouldn't harm me, right? You'd still be... you.” Regis squeezed his hand and looked away.

”Your trust means a world to me, Geralt, but it is not that simple. Have you ever seen a higher vampire in the throes of a bloodrage? There is no saying what I would or would not do, as much as it pains me to admit this.”

”So... We shouldn't do it?” Geralt asked, his thumb stroking Regis' hand. Regis sighed and looked him in the eye. Then he told him about Tesham Mutna.

***

Geralt could smell what had been in the glass even before his anger and alarm rose.

”You crazy? You're a recovering addict.”

”Your outrage warms my heart, Geralt, but you must remain calm. I had no choice.”

”Yes you do. Regis, look at me. I will not expose you to unnecessary danger that can be avoided to complete a job. Hell, the job can fail for all I care, if it means you are safe.”

Regis looked at him at that. His face was pinched, presumably because he had just imbided a dose of raven blood, but his eyes were suddenly very soft.

”I did not know your feelings went that deep. Forgive me Geralt, it seems I always end up assuming things you later prove false simply by being the amazing person you are.”

Geralt could not think of anything to answer him, shaking his head and feeling apprehensive.

”As things stand, the die is cast. High time we set off,” Regis continued.

***

The big chamber under Tesham Mutna made Geralt's skin crawl. He was not experienced in any form of necromancy, but the air felt wrong. Like hundreds of beings had died there and then stayed because they were unable to find their way out of the dark, echoing space. An acrid taste flared in his throat. He wondered whether this was something that Yen had felt like when she had called Skjall back from beyond his sad grave in Lofoten.

”Please place the baits, Geralt.”

Regis' voice was strained. He was standing next to the tall cage. It's metal had not accumulated any rust during the years it had stood empty. It reminded Geralt of the gallows he had seen in Vizima, many years ago. The townspeople had called them the Shadow Site. That place had also had similar aura of passive malevolence, though not nearly as strong as this. The cage looked unassuming, but Regis regarded it with thinly-veiled disgust in his black eyes.

Geralt set out, clearing some debris away from the tunnels, trying not to think how and why they had been built. His hearing could pick out very distant sounds of the necrophages, as they eventually caught the sweet, rotten stench of the baits.

”I'm ready,” he told Regis when all was set. Regis nodded, not looking at him. Geralt saw he was shaking as he climbed inside the cage. He would have given anything to be able to gather the vampire up and get fuck out of this accursed place as fast as his feet could carry, but he knew it was not possible. The events were in motion, and he could hear the monsters approaching.

”You need to lock me in place, chain me up,” Regis ground out, stretching his hands out to the cruel-looking manacles set into the cage's wall. Geralt did as he was asked, feeling ready to hurl. When Regis was secured, he seemed to give up the pretense. His nails extended and his eyes went completely black.

”We need to do this,” he hissed, even as his whole body was convulsing, his face twisting into its bestial form. Geralt knew it was because of him, it was his blood that was tormenting Regis. He pulled the lever, and the ancient chain pulled the cage up and out of his reach. He heard Regis' ragged breathing, even as his senses warned him of the first necrophages.

The fight itself was nothing he could not have handled on a bad day. He sliced through the ghouls and scurvers, trying to avoid getting any cuts of his own. The single fleder that had dug up proved to be more of a challenge, but even that was an old individual, grown careless on its easy feeding grounds.

No, what almost undid him was listening to Regis' howls of pain and catching glimpses of him trashing around in the cage. Had he known how things would pan out, he would have dug his heels in and singlehandedly refused to do this. He suspected it was precicely the reason Regis had not told him. It made Geralt's heart ache for him.

Finally there were no more enemies to slay. Geralt saw the last small katakan scurry off when it caught a whiff of Regis. When he was certain it was gone, he ran towards the lever and brought the cage down.

Inside, Regis had transformed as much as the cage would allow him to. Geralt had never been bothered by this form of Regis, it was simply the other side of him. He would be the worst hypocrite in the world if he couldn't handle seeing the vampire as he truly was, he had always reasoned. And Geralt had seen him this way many times, usually when they were in a fight, but other times as well.

But now there was something different. In previous times, he had always been absolutely certain it was still Regis, no matter how he looked, but now the sight reminded him both of the lesser vampires and Dettlaff when they had fought. There was something darker about him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It felt wrong, sitting uneasy at the pit of his belly.

Regis' wrists were bleeding heavily from where the manacles had torn into his flesh. Growls and screams issued from his mouth as he fought to get to him. Geralt tried to empty his head. He needed to get the blood now, otherwise all this would have been futile. His movements automatic and practical, trying to avoid being cut by Regis' twitching claws, he let some of Regis' blood drip inside the vial he was carrying. When he was done, he pocketed it, feeling the strength go out of his muscles.

Regis was writhing, his senses clearly overworking themselves. His black eyes were deep pools of night, and they were staring at him, full of rage. Bound as he was, he was not able to move any closer, but Geralt could see what he had meant by this being very dangerous; had the cage not been holding him, Regis would have gone for his throat in an instant.

He didn't blame Regis, not for one minute. He simply wished he could do something to ease his suffering.

”The blood will dry in a few hours,” he told the figure that hid his lover and friend. ”This will be over soon, I promise you.” His voice rasped. He felt useless.

He kneeled down so that he had a clear view of Regis. He set out to clean his swords and armor, making sure to scrub off any bloodstains he found in them. He checked himself for any damage, and cleaned the few cuts he'd acquired, too. And all that time he kept on a soliloquy that would have put Regis himself to shame. He left his low voice wander from topic to topic, but he couldn't simply sit and wait in silence. Maybe it even provided Regis with some small measure of comfort, for a few times Geralt felt like he saw his true self behind the violent mask he had been made to don.

When Geralt finally saw the claws disappear and Regis' human face return, he was on his feet and by the cage in an instant. He undid the chains, and to his horror Regis slumped to the cage floor, looking like he was ready to pass out. Geralt wrenched the cage door open and gathered Regis in his arms, cradling his head.

”Regis? Talk to me, please.” He heard how scared his voice sounded.

”That was...unpleasant,” Regis coughed, his hands coming to clutch at him weakly. He opened his eyes, which were even more bloodshot than usually. In the dim light, Geralt saw his skin was ghostly grey and slick with cold sweat.

”Understatement of the year, Regis,” he mocked. He felt like he would burst into hysterics any moment now. ”You ready to go home?”

”Yes, please.”

Geralt slung the vampire's arm around his shoulders, leading him back up the stairs. Regis' knees gave out before the last flight, so the witcher ignored his sputtering and simply carried the vampire up and into fresh night air.

After he had bandaged Regis' wrists, they rode back. Regis sat in front of him, leaning into his chest. Roach didn't seem to mind the extra weight as long as she didn't have to run. Geralt kept his right arm around Regis' waist the whole way. When the vampire chuckled and asked about it, Geralt told him he didn't want to see him fall off the saddle and into the gutter; the truth was that he needed to hold Regis close, feel his steady heartbeat against his chest. Regis gave a satisfied hum, apparently seeing through him but not calling him out on his fretting.

***

”We need not discuss it.”

”The hell we don't,” Geralt snarled. After they had returned to the crypt, he had brought Regis the vials and jars he had asked for, and with the medicine the vampire seemed to be on his way to a slow recovery. Which meant Geralt could afford to get angry now.

”You lied to me. Had I known it would be equal to torture, I would never have let you go through with that,” Geralt snapped. Regis shook his head.

”I knew that. It is exactly the reason I did not tell you. It was the only way.”

”I could have gone and found Dettlaff some other way, Geralt shot back, his temper rising.

”I did not wish you to use any other way. Did that occur to you?” Regis said, not increasing his volume, but sounding equally mulish.

”I owe Dettlaff a great debt, Geralt. There is very little I would not consider doing to help him. It is the same thing with you. I would subject myself to that ordeal a thousand times over for either one of you.”

Geralt opened his mouth and closed it, no more words forthcoming. Regis slumped against the chair he was sitting on. He looked very tired but still decisive.

”I suspect the depth of my feelings for you does not come as a complete shock, but to avoid any misunderstandings: I do love you, Geralt. I have done so for a very long time, so I am not telling you this on a whim.” He reached over, cautiously grasped his chin in a gentle grip and made him face his steady gaze. ”You are of utmost importance to my happiness, and I plan to behave as selfishly as need be to keep you alive.” He smiled, and then let out a muffled sound as Geralt kissed that infuriating mouth.

Regis melted against him letting out a soft sigh, the witcher allowing his desperation bleed into the act. He had known, damn it all. Regis had been honest with him from the start, and Geralt had seen the way the vampire looked at him. _He_ had let Regis look into his deepest secrets, and had still received nothing but care and acceptance in return. Hearing the words spoken aloud and with no possibility to misunderstand their meaning meant that whatever was between them was irreversible now.

Not that he would have wanted to back out, hell no. Now there was simply a new sense of gravity to it all.

”I... I think I knew that,” he finally said when they parted. Regis chuckled, looking delighted.

”You have always been a clever one. Though I must admit I have not been very secretive as of late.”

Geralt hmm'ed and let his brow meet Regis'.

”I think I love you, too. Things are happening very quickly, but this feels like something I should have said long ago,” he said, seeing how Regis' eyes widened when he registered what Geralt was saying. The vampire seemed to be at a loss for words, for once. Geralt laughed.

”C'mon. You can't expect I let you into my bed _and_ my head just for the fun of it?”

”No, it certainly would not be like you at all,” Regis mumbled, his face breaking into an expression of pure joy. It even alleviated some of his death pallor.

They stayed like that for a few moments, both enjoying the proximity and the warm glow of the words they had just spoken. Finally, Geralt made himself pull back.

”Hate to break the moment, but I think we need to get back to work. Wouldn't do if that rage blood of yours went bad after all that toil.”

Regis nodded. He gave Geralt the instructions and still proceeded to hover over his shoulder, even as Geralt assured him he had managed to brew a potion or two in his life and not get himself killed in the process. When Regis looked like he might pass out on his feet, Geralt distracted him with a kiss (the Resonance was at a convenient simmering phase by then) and half-wrestled the vampire into his bed.

”Rest. Sleep, if you can manage. I promise I will wake you up when I'm done. You're of no use to me if you fall face down into that pot, Regis,” he growled. Regis tried to shoot him a reproaching glare, but it was dampened by the fact that his eyes were slipping shut. Geralt chuckled and ran his fingers through the grey and black hair. Regis gave a resigned sigh and went out like a light.

***

Geralt grimaced as he forced the dose of Resonance down. He had thought Dijkstra's Pop's Mold antidote had tasted horrible, but this was something else entirely. It was both horribly bitter and still managing to cloy his mouth with a sticky rotten taste. Well, what could he expect from a broth made of vampire tissue and blood, topped with wight saliva and gods know what else.

Regis kept a close eye on him.

”Feel anything? Are you certain-”

”Yes, Regis, I'm sure I made it right. Give it time, I just managed to chug it a second ago,” Geralt spoke over him, trying to gather enough saliva in his mouth to get rid of the taste. ”You higher vampires taste like death, just so you know.”

Regis managed a weak smile at that.

Geralt leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. A faint rocking sensation had started at the back of his head and it was getting more powerful by the minute. His instinct would have been to fight it, but the forced himself to relax, almost falling into a meditative state before suddenly the visions burst forth.

In a way they reminded him of how he had felt when Regis had been reading his mind. Somehow more intensive and not nearly as safe, though.

He could tell he was watching events unfold from Dettlaff's perspective. He saw count de la Croix stand up for him when a man tried to jump the bootblack's queue, felt the embarrassed gratitude. He watched them become friends, feeling the emotions Dettlaff had experienced. Joy, curiosity, wonder. And then he watched how Dettlaff received the note and was nearly swept off his feet with sorrow.

It was horrible to experience the murder. Dettlaff let himself descend into his feelings of rage, but even then Geralt could tell he was on a verge of breaking down. When he had pushed the bits of the count's body into the river, he howled like a wounded beast, slashing his hand off. It had been the one that had struck the killing blow. Dettlaff's eyes tracked the fall of the hand and Regis' ring with it, and Geralt himself drown in shame and grief just as the visions begun to dissolve, like snow in the spring sun.

He came down from the jumble of feelings slowly. He was lying down, his head in Regis' lap.

”How do you feel? You were convulsing, and I feared you might...” Regis whispered, stroking his hair. Geralt forced a smile, although he was still caught in the flood of emotions he had experienced.

”I'm fine. Understood what you meant by calling Dettlaff's way of experiencing the world very differently compared to humans,” he said, not bothering to rise up just yet.

”Mm, sounds like the Resonance worked like it was supposed to,” Regis hummed. ”Tell me about it.”

Geralt recounted the events, trying to discern the feelings from the actual events. When he finished, Regis was looking troubled.

”So someone is feeding him the names of his victims. I knew he was not killing them without a reason, but this makes matters more complicated.”

”We might try talking to the boy I saw. The bootblack,” Geralt suggested. Regis nodded.

”Yes, it seems like a wise course of action. But we are not in a hurry. It is well past midnight, and the boy is undoubtedly asleep.”

Regis stretched out next to him, and Geralt realized the vampire had stripped him down to his undershirt and trousers.

”Always eager to get me out of my clothes and into your bed, Regis?” He felt a laugh escape Regis' lips, which were pressed against his pulse.

”I am. But right now I'm more intent upon us both getting some well-earned rest.”

”Not the worst idea you've had since you came back,” Geralt answered, wrapping his hands around the other man's smaller form. Regis squimed around, pressing his back to Geralt's chest, and let out a content sound.

”Oh, but how I've wished for this. To be allowed to fall asleep while you hold me close. Excuisite.”

Geralt could agree with that, if not with that many words. Regis fit nicely against him, his breathing and heartbeat somewhat slower than his own. Geralt's left hand curled under the vampires head and the right settled against his chest, where Regis grasped it.

Geralt's last thought before sleep took him was how nice it would be to get used to this.

  


**II**

”A bit more finesse, I implore you.”

Geralt suppressed a sigh, only to see Regis turn into a cloud of grey mist and billow through the small open window next to the locked, red door. A moment passed, and then he heard the lock click. Regis opened the door, looking incredibly smug.

”Nice skills. Ever considered burglary as a career?” he drawled, glad he would not have to break anything just yet.

”I did, briefly. I ultimately decided it would be terribly dull,” Regis grinned, mischief written all over his features. Geralt shook his head, feeling warmth well inside his chest. He was so, so screwed.

Once they reached the upstairs room, it didn't take him long to find the letter and the rest of the slips of paper. Regis seemed excited to discover near-solid proof Dettlaff was being blackmailed, and Geralt had a fleeting suspicion the vampire had indeed had his own doubts and was greatly relieved to have them resolved.

”It seems that whoever took Rhenawedd is the one we're looking for, along with the woman herself,” Regis said. Geralt looked at him questioningly. ”Think about it. Find Dettlaff's lover, and he has no more reason to kill,” Regis continued.

”But does this...Rhena wish to be reunited with Dettlaff? You said so yourself, maybe she just left because she couldn't handle Dettlaff.” Regis pursed his lips, contemplating this. ”Especially if what you said about her being a part of his 'pack' is true,” Geralt continued. He had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

”It is a good point. But she needs to be rescued, no matter how she may feel about Dettlaff. And Dettlaff is no brute who would force her to stay, if she is not so inclined. I would even hazard a guess that allowing them to talk about their shared past might provide some closure for Dettlaff, and perhaps for Rhena as well.”

Geralt shrugged. Not like he had much else to offer.

”So, what will you do? I need to report to the duchess today.”

”You do that. I will wait for Dettlaff here, explain the situation and that you will try to help him.”

Geralt would have wanted to argue against his wording, but he could not. It had been easier to treat Dettlaff as a threat, something unknowable and dangerous before he had taken the trip inside his thoughts and memories. Having experienced his distress and all-consuming anxiety, Geralt found himself feeling for the vampire, which should have confused him. Instead he found that while he didn't condone his killings, he was at a loss for a better reaction. Had he been put to a similar situtation, with someone extorting him to kill while Ciri, or Regis, was in danger...

Regis was regarding him with a careful expression. He crossed the room and pulled Geralt close.

”You really do wish to help him,” he said, his voice a little wondering. ”What is it, Geralt?”

Geralt avoided his eye, but that tactique never worked well with a being that surpassed him in both life experience and simple everyday stubborness. Regis tilted his head, trying to read him.

”You really felt his emotions.” His voice was quiet. ”The Resonance made you an empath, for a while. You felt everything Dettlaff did, and now you know him in a way few could claim to.” He smiled, a bit sadly. ”When I told you people could not hope to grasp the significance of a blood bond, I didn't consider this. You had a taste; the bond makes us attuned to each other, the strongest emotions sometimes bleeding over to the other person.”

Regis was silent for a while, his expression contemplative. ”I realize this makes your situtation more difficult. But if it were possible for me to hold you in any higher regard, I would,” Regis whispered, sounding awed. Geralt scoffed.

”What do you mean? I just happen to know he has human feelings now, a motive to kill.”

”And you choose to follow that instinct, not allowing yourself to choose the easy path of aggression to solve this quickly. Do you know how rare a quality genuine empathy is?” Regis told him, looking at him like he was the goddamn sun. Geralt felt uneasy; he was not nearly that noble.

Regis saw him squirm and leaned in to kiss him.

”Go see the duquessa, my love. I will find you afterwards, and I will bring Dettlaff with me.”

”Be careful, Regis,” Geralt told him.

”You, too,” Regis smiled, settling down to wait for his friend.

***

Hearing Anna Henrietta and captain Damien de la Tour talk about higher vampires like they were some rabid beasts made his blood boil. It should have surprised him, but it didn't. Not only because he was sleeping with one, but because he _had felt_ all the pain Dettlaff had been feeling, as if it had been his own. No mere beast could hope for that kind of emotional depth; hell, not even many of the humans he had met came close. He forced himself to stop himself from correcting the duchess when she referred to Dettlaff as an 'it,' but could not help provoking the captain.

Geralt was, however, pleased to discover the wine stain in one of the slips of paper was a proper clue. He had been resigning himself to stumbling around in the dark, but was instead following a solid trail to Castel Ravello. Having to follow it with the captain and Anna Henrietta at his heels grated on his nerves, but he made do.

The search dragged on, and he could not hope to send a word to Regis before they left to set the trap for the wine buyer. He didn't worry about it too much; he had a suspicion that some of the ravens he saw circling above the ruined keep were there because a certain higher vampire could not keep his nose out of his lover's business. The thought made him smile, as he was waiting for the merchant.

After he had watched the duchess scare the remaining bandit into babbling out the name, the Cintrian, he was surprised to find himself alone with her while they waited for the captain to return. He'd had his suspicions about her persona, but after spending a few uninterrupted hours listening to her scheming, Geralt was convinced Anna Henrietta was not someone he wanted to cross.

***

That seemed to apply to matters small and grand, he mused, as he allowed the sewer to force him into yet another tight doublet and an uncomfortable pair of pants. How in the name of gods had anyone decided this was what formal wear should look and feel like? His only consolation was knowing Regis did not expect him to be anything but himself at all times (however, he also had a creeping suspicion the vampire would probably have appreciated being treated to the sight of Geralt in fancy clothes.) He only hoped the ravens would keep their beaks shut about this much. Probably a vain hope, he surmised, while he waited for Anna Henrietta in the alleyway in Hauteville.

After they were admitted to the soirée, Geralt caught only a glimpse of the estate's owner, a woman with blazing red hair, before Anna Henrietta dragged him off to look for the singer and the Cintrian. He managed to keep his face entirely neutral even as the beautiful young woman lay there naked, she herself completely unperturped by the increased audience.

When they finally had a proper lead in the form of the perfume, he managed to smell the trail here and there throughout the yard, and together they followed it. He thought things were moving too rapidly again. It reminded him of his arrival in Toussaint. This whole endeavor was holding less and less appeal to him. There were lulls of inactivity, and then everything came crashing down at once. As the was following one clue after another, he sensed something ominous. Something was not right, but he could for the life of him tell what it was.

***

After Geralt got a good look on Orianna's face he could tell something was off with her. Her choice of words (”chose her males badly”) only added to the feeling of something dark about her. The woman moved like a panther, her steps eerily quiet as she led them to the balcony. Seeing as Anna Henrietta seemed to trust her, Geralt decided not to confront the woman. Hearing about her fighting off the burglar, however, confirmed his suspicions. Orianna was no mere human. Geralt met her eyes over the table, and he knew she had him figured out, as well.

_This one is dangerous, but only if I prove to be a threat._

After Orianna had excused herself Geralt was further surprised, as he learned about the existence of Sylvia Anna.

Hearing about the sisters' past, he could not help but resent Anna Henrietta and her family. Sure, the duchess had been just a child when her sister had been banished, but he felt anger for the Toussaint court for exiling a young girl after treating her like a leper for so many years. Geralt knew people could be cruel, and that rich people could afford to use imagination in their brand of it. He had learned it, first while serving Foltest, and later again with Emhyr var Emreis and Radovid. For a fleeting moment, he wondered when he would finally learn not to get involved with royalty.

Anna Henrietta's demand to bring Syanna back safely surprised him. He wanted to ask her for a reason, because all the signs pointed to the sister being involved with the blackmailing, maybe even the murders. Before he managed to find the words, however, Orianna returned. Geralt heard two new individuals coming with her and the servant, but when he looked up his heart skipped a beat.

Orianna was regarding him with an inquisitive look. Behind her stood Regis, who swiped his gaze from Anna Henrietta to Geralt, his mouth giving a minute twitch towards a reassuring smile. Geralt looked at the figure behind him.

Dettlaff came to stop beside Regis, his hands clasped together in front of him. He glanced at Orianna and Anna Henrietta, acknowledging them with a small nod, before settling his gaze on Geralt.

Geralt missed what was being said around him, something about Nazair and Anna Henrietta inquiring after Regis' comings and goings. His focus narrowed down for a while, assessing the threat and trying to see how to proceed. This was not how he imagined the evening would go.

Dettlaff stood his ground, not making any sudden or anxious movements. His shoulders were relaxed and his body was turned just slightly towards Regis, as if he was looking at him for cues as to how to behave. He met Geralt's eyes steadily, with a hint of a question in them.

”We've known each other for... Uh, ages. Literally.” Orianna's words brought him back to the present moment. He saw her eyes flicker over him, and felt like his suspicions had been confirmed when he saw Regis purse his mouth at the choice of words. Orianna was indeed one of the higher vampires.

”Witcher, I hear you know Regis, too. That you are...friends?” Orianna continued, coming to stand between him and the male vampires. For anyone else, the gesture would have seemed innocent, but it was far from it. Orianna clearly suspected something about him and Regis, and she did not trust him not to react rashly now that the situation was escalating. Geralt wondered absent-mindedly whether she really expected him to attack every time after being taken by a surprise. People often took him for some sort of a barbarian. Each time it managed to grate at him, but now more than ever, he realized.

”Few I can rely like I can on Regis. Kinda hope he thinks the same of me,” Geralt answered, offering a placating smile and hiding his ire. Otherwise it would have been all the same to him, but he knew he needed to keep Anna Henrietta in the dark about the nature of her present company. Regis nodded at his words and Dettlaff glanced at him, looking like he just understood something that had been bothering him immensely. _Great_ , Geralt thought. He loved when supernatural beings knew everything about him before he did.

”Curious. It seems opposites really do attract.” Orianna's lips twitched before she moved to sit down.

Geralt let his shoulders drop. He had been tensing up. The danger seemed to have passed somewhat, because Regis strode forward, spouting off some bullshit about Geralt and his merits as a person, and after a while everyone followed his cue and sat down. Geralt let his senses extend so that he could track Dettlaff when he was behind him, but was only met with a wary look as the vampire chose a seat across from him.

”Your business here, it involves the Beast of Beauclair?” Orianna continued addressing him, for all appearances coming off like a curious, wealthy woman. Geralt knew he was still not completely out of hot water; the vampiress was merely assessing the level of threat he posed to her brethren.

”That's true,” he said.

”Master witcher, maybe you could satisfy my curiosity. What's it like going toe to toe with a monster? Knowing you've only two options, to kill or be killed?”

Geralt pursed his lips. Orianna clearly thought of him as an enemy, but maybe not one she would need to immediately dispose of.

”Despite from what you might have heard, I don't lunge at every monster I see, sword in hand. Talking gets the job done for some.”

”Hmm. I wonder what a monster might have to say to you,” Orianna smiled, and Geralt almost rolled his eyes. Really, could she be any more transparent? He knew he was outmatched here, if all three of the vampires were to turn on him. He only hoped Anna Henrietta would not catch on to this show of wits.

”It might want to apologize.” Dettlaff's human voice was melodical and deep. He looked straight at Geralt, clearly more satisfied with his answers than Orianna.

”My word. For what would a monster wish to apologize to a witcher?” Orianna's voice betrayed the faintest hint of vexation, as if she had assumed Dettlaff to follow her lead in the conversation. Geralt tucked the hierarchy he observed into his memory, reminding himself to ask Regis about it later.

”For killing. Though at times there is no choice. When loved ones are at risk and require protection,” Dettlaff answered, clearly not caring about stepping on Orianna's toes. He looked around and returned his gaze to Geralt. Geralt wondered whether Regis had told him they had spied on him using Resonance. Seeing the same expression he had felt in the vision, the anxiety hidden beneath the calm demeanor made him answer truthfully.

”Same as humans. Put them in that situation, they will kill, too.”

”You understand this.” Dettlaff sounded a bit wondering. ”It must be why you and Regis are friends.”

***

When he finally managed to extract Regis from the table, Geralt's nerves were ragged. The level of hostility Orianna radiated was exhausting to combat when you could do nothing but smile politely and try to observe where the cracks in the ice were so that Dettlaff in turn could see he could trust him. This was why he was a goddamn witcher and not a diplomat.

”Are you crazy, bringing Dettlaff here?”

At least Regis had the grace to look embarrassed. Geralt felt like he would be in dire need of blowing off some steam later.

”You were supposed to watch him.”

”That is precicely what I'm doing. Dettlaff believes you will succeed in your task. That he will not need to kill again.”

”Well, you need to keep that up, Regis. I've learned the blackmailers are based in the Dun Tynne castle.”

Getting through to the vampire felt difficult, and not least because Geralt felt suddenly very tired. His body wanted to fall into Regis' arms and not care about the mission for a short while. So much had gone wrong already and he would have loved to take a step back, to have some time to consider his options. But he needed to get moving before things shifted again and he would be forced to resort to total improvisation. He had a creeping suspicion everything was only going to become more difficult from here on.

”You need to keep Dettlaff here, so I can go and extract Rhena and Syanna.”

”Alone?” Regis' eyes widened. He looked like he was ready to argue about Geralt's plan all night, if need be.

”Yes. Alone. Can I trust you will keep Dettlaff here?” Geralt pressed, not giving in to the wish to simply hug Regis. He looked so distressed.

”I... Very well. I will keep Dettlaff away.” He looked down at his feet, biting his lip. Geralt could not take it anymore and stepped closer.

”Hey. It's just humans there. Been through worse,” he said quietly, bringing his hand to Regis' cheek. Regis looked at him, frowning.

”That is the very reason I find myself against this plan. You would not need to go alone. But-” he continued, as he saw Geralt open his mouth, ”I trust you, and will keep my word.” He leaned to press a brief kiss to Geralt's lips. ”You look very handsome, by the way,” he whispered, grinning as he drew away. Geralt rolled his eyes.

As he left Orianna's estate, he realized he only had less than two hours before he was supposed to meet with de la Tour at the mill. He hurried off to fetch his armor and weapons, his mind turning the evening's events over as he went.

He had his doubts about Regis managing to keep Dettlaff away. The black-haired vampire seemed every bit as intense as he had suspected, and now that de la Tour and the ducal guard were to accompany him, the cover would be easily blown for someone as observant as a higher vampire. Especially since the local winged wildlife seemed to be very much inclined to babble everything they saw to them.

He would just need to get there first, he pondered as he pulled on plate and mail and finally ditched the doublet, giving his swords a quick once-over. He could manage that, make sure Sylvia Anna would come to no harm and save Rhena.

  


**III**

Geralt saw the red mist drift through the feet of the archers and suppressed a sigh. Just as he had thought.

The archers were thrown off their feet, and screams and growls followed. Geralt was surprised to see Regis, too, when the mist took humanoid form once more.

Dettlaff bolted off immediately, so Regis did not get a chance to explain himself. Geralt merely shook his head, trying to convey he was not angry with him. Regis nodded, his anxious expression easing a little.

Geralt fought his way towards the keep. They were grossly outnumbered by the castle guards and the foreign mercenaries, but he had never been fighting with two higher vampires by his side. Whenever he took on an opponent, red or grey smoke appeared, and Regis or Dettlaff would rush at the enemy, helping him dispose of them. They moved well together, too: Geralt and Regis being able to read each other simply because they had done this before and Dettlaff being a quick study of their respective fighting styles. His movements held less rage and seemed more fluid than they had been at the warehouse.

At the keep door they were kept a while longer, and just as Geralt struck at the man Regis had pinned down with his claws, he saw Dettlaff disappear through the doors.

”Regis!” he yelled, terror welling up inside him. They needed to get up to the room where the women were being held, before Dettlaff would let his rage guide his hand.

Regis saw what he meant and dashed after him. They ran up the stairs, but Dettlaff was faster. Geralt almost fell over the guardsman's body as it rolled down the stairs. He could see Dettlaff taking a few deep breaths up on the landing, forcing his bestial face back. When he looked fully human, he pushed open the door and entered.

Regis grabbed his arm, looking alarmed. Geralt shook his head, not entirely sure how to proceed. They ran up the last flight of stairs and saw what was in the room.

The woman in Dettlaff's arms looked startlingly familiar, despite Geralt being absolutely certain they had not met before. She had cold, grey eyes, which flitted between him and Dettlaff, calculating. Then it clicked: This was Syanna. He knew it. She had the same face as the duchess, down to the look she wore when she assessed the situation.

When Geralt gave voice to his suspicions, he could hear Regis draw in a breath, seeing it too. He rushed to calm Dettlaff, but Geralt didn't give a damn. The plot was unraveling before his eyes, and he saw the woman knew she'd been caught.

”Sylvia Anna and Rhenawedd. They are the same person,” he said finally, his voice flat. It was so simple, but the outrageousness of the plot had guaranteed no one had suspected it before.

He laid out the facts, keeping a close eye of Syanna and Dettlaff. The vampire was pacing, throwing glances at him as he spoke. Syanna simply stood rigidly, holding her left hand behind her back; it seemed as if she was used to defending herself against verbal accusations. Her face didn't give anything away.

”Sorry Dettlaff. She used you.”

Geralt watched as Dettlaff walked to the window and looked down. His shoulders were tense. Syanna moved then, laying her small hand on Dettlaff's shoulder. Whatever she meant to say didn't make it, because Dettlaff whirled and slammed her to the wall.

Geralt was reaching for his silver sword when Regis caught his wrist in an iron grip. His black eyes looked wary but not alarmed as he shook his head.

And true enough, almost as soon as Dettlaff had her there, he let her go. He looked at his hands, momentarily alarmed, before turning to stare at Syanna.

”You will come to Tesham Mutna and explain all. If you do not, I will raze Beauclair to the ground. This I promise you. You've three days.” His voice was rough, like he was fighting tooth and nail not to let himself shout. ”I shall be waiting.” And before Geralt knew it, he had turned into red mist and flown through the window.

"What- Where did he go?" he asked no one in particular. Regis heaved a sigh.

"He's gone to soothe his nerves. He didn't want to act rashly."

Geralt almost laughed. If that was Dettlaff being sensible, he really didn't wish to see him unhinged.

”Think he'll do it?” Geralt asked Regis. He was suddenly feeling nauseous. All his dark premonitions were coming true.

”I cannot say. He can be unpredictable when fury consumes him,” Regis answered, rubbing his temples like he was getting a headache.

When Syanna finally managed to open her mouth, Geralt saw she truly was Anna Henrietta's sister. Her voice was a bit lower, but she held herself in the same manner and seemed to expect people to listen to her when she spoke. She had the same manner of articulation, and somehthing in her voice told him she was certain of her superiority.

”I shall go to him.” Syanna's voice was very calm, like she had not just been thrown against the wall by her former lover.

”Come again?” Regis sounded incredulous. ”After what he just-”

”You don't know Dettlaff like I do.”

The words had an immediate reaction to Regis. Geralt heard him bite his teeth together, and clearly he would have loved nothing more dearly than being allowed to give Sylvia Anna a piece of his mind. Regarding what Regis had told Geralt about the bond he and Dettlaff shared, it seemed like an insult thrown straight at his face.

Geralt was surprised Syanna agreed she would need to go meet Dettlaff. Her cold eyes regarded him, a knowing little smile playing on her lips every now and then.

”Seems like you have some last scraps of honor left,” he told her. The woman gave off a distasteful aura he couldn't ignore.

”It's the least I can do,” Syanna answered, closing her eyes and bowing her head elegantly. It could have seemed sincere, and still Geralt could not say what made him unable to trust a word she uttered.

”Well... It truly seems like the best option,” Regis said, sounding equally suspicious and still affronted.

***

Seeing how Anna Henrietta was ready to forgive and forget everything Syanna had done made Geralt grind his teeth together.

Syanna gave her sister a cold, appraising look, but went with captain de la Tour without uttering a word. Geralt couldn't come up with anything he could have said to prevent this, knowing full well their only chance of peaceful resolution was being taken away. He suspected Syanna had known how things were going to play out; that she would never be forced to meet Dettlaff after all. She'd played her sister well and maybe had even known Anarietta would protect her.

_Does she want to see Beauclair bleed? Is that her plan, to force her sister's downfall like this?_

Geralt could feel the irony of the situation. Here they were, two humans (or something close to it, anyway) who had fallen for vampires. It seemed almost comical, the more he thought about it. No matter how little he wanted to identify with Syanna, he could not help seeing some kind of a parallax in the situation; there were Syanna and Dettlaff, caught in their orbit of mutual destruction, and when the focus shifted one could observe him and Regis, desperately trying to find their footing after being ripped apart.

It was an idle sentiment that flitted through his head, gone the next moment. He needed to get Anna Henrietta to listen to reason. Otherwise Dettlaff would make good of his ultimatum and end up being the tool in Syanna's masterplan.

”Rodrick of Dun Tynne was not behind the blackmail, Your Grace,” he said, desperately searching for words. ”He's simply naïve, let himself be taken advantage of.”

Anna Henrietta scowled, clearly unhappy her clean solution was being ruined. ”Taken advantage of? By whom?” Her voice was cold, and Geralt still tried to explain.

”Your sister. Syanna was the vampire's, _the Beast's_ , lover. She staged her own abduction, blackmailed him to do her bidding.” Even as the words took form, even with Regis' calm support, he could see the duchess' infamous temper rising.

”What nonsense is this?!” she bit out, her hands twitching. The concept of her own sister associating with something vile and dangerous didn't sit well with her.

”The whole scheme was Syanna's. The vampire was merely a tool of hers,” Geralt tried once more, but the duchess had gathered herself. Her nostrils flared as she raised her chin.

”You're mistaken. You must be. This cannot be true,” she stated with a stilted tone, and Geralt knew they had lost.

Regis clearly still harbored a hope to get through to the duchess.

”Your Grace, I know this vampire and-”

Geralt went cold all over; for a while he thought Regis would reveal himself to protect Dettlaff and be willing to burn along with his friend. Thankfully, Anna Henrietta didn't pay him enough attention.

”What? You know him?! Who is he?” she asked, now clearly furious. Regis seemed to finally reach the same conclusion Geralt had arrived moments earlier. But he could not back out anymore. His voice was broken when he answered, the name wrenched from him.

”Dettlaff.”

Anna Henrietta's face paled as the truth sank in.

”Dettlaff... The same one who so recently sat at my table and told me of Nazair?” she asked, her voice emotionless as she processed the fact she had been but a few meters away from the Beast; that she had seen him as a person then. Geralt felt the last glimmer of hope, but it was snuffed out as he saw the duchess's lips thin. She was offended at being deceived. Nothing else mattered, it seemed.

”Is there anything else you've neglected to mention? Is anyone else here a vampire?”

For a second, Geralt feared Regis might decide to speak up, then. Thankfully, he seemed to have regained his senses.

Anna Henrietta was beyond reasoning with. Geralt had seen this many times before, when things didn't pan out the way people wanted to. Poor, ordinary people were often grievous and in denial, while rich and noble ones started to throw threats and grew angry. It was tiring and frustrating, but he could see the appeal of not accepting truths that hurt. This time was no different.

”You have three days to bring me the head of the Beast. No more playing around, no more helping vampires,” she hissed before turning heel and walking off, her head held high and her shoulders stiff with outrage.

Geralt turned to look at Regis, who was staring at him.

”Well, that did not go as planned,” the vampire mumbled, clearly still trying to process what had just taken place. Geralt let his shoulders slump, feeling suddenly very tired. Regis was by his side in an instant, holding him close. Geralt let his head fall and leaned it on the vampire's shoulder, not caring if anyone was around to see.

”I fucked this up,” he mumbled into Regis' neck, feeling defeated and sad. The vampire grasped his chin and made the witcher look at himself.

” _No_. No, Geralt. This one is not on you. We did not know Syanna and Rhenawedd were the same person. Dettlaff's impulsivity isn't your fault either, nor is the temperament of _Her Illustrious Highness_ something you could hope to sway,” he said, enunciating Anna Henrietta's title with anger in his voice. Then his gaze turned soft. ”I know it is futile to try to talk you completely out of your guilt, but do try to remember the facts, my love.”

Geralt nodded, not really feeling like arguing right now.

”We need to get some rest,” he said instead. ”We have three days to come up with something.”

Regis nodded, not letting him go. ”We could go to the cemetery-”

Geralt rolled his eyes. ”I'm a vineyard owner, remember? What do you say to sleeping in a real bed for a change?” Regis' eyes lit up, and despite how horrible Geralt was feeling, his proximity anchored him, preventing him from completely slipping into self-loathing.

 


	5. With These Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah still not mine.
> 
> Oh my god you guys, thank you so much for the comments and kudos. *3* They have made my days! <3 As I said, this fic is finished, now it only requires editing. Yay and all that. Also, my hellbrain cooked up approximately seventeen scenarios for sequels in the span of two days.
> 
> So, anyway! Have some pain! And smut, but mostly pain!

**I**

Barnabas-Basil received him with bleary eyes. He clearly trying to kick his sleepy mind into gear after being woken up just after two in the morning and getting greeted by a bloody witcher and his companion. They had arrived at Corvo Bianco tired and dirty. Regis had still managed to look around in wonder, clearly taking in his surroundings and finding them beautiful. Well, that much was true, Geralt mused (while he tried to assure his majordomo they did not presently require anything more than quick baths and something to eat.) Corvo Bianco _was_ beautiful; the place was set in the nook of two hills, and the view further down the valley was serene and breathtaking.

”Very well, sir,” Barnabas-Basil said finally, clearly still not convinced they were not in need of a warm meal to be prepared this instant. ”I will have baths drawn as soon as possible. I will see to your guest room as well, see it prepared for master...” his voice trailed off, questioning. Geralt saw him regarding Regis good-naturedly, clearly having come to the conclusion that when you got a witcher as a master of the house, you should just expect whatever and then roll with it. Well, Regis certainly _looked_ harmless.

”Regis,” Geralt told the steward. He was tired and didn't give a damn at that point what the man might think. ”And don't bother about the guest room, he's staying with me.” He expected to see something like barely-concealed disgust or alarm, but the majordomo simply gave him a polite smile and directed them to sit down in the kitchen. Somehow, one of the serving girls had already prepared a quick, cold meal for them. Geralt dove in, only now realizing he was starving. Regis let out an appreciative noise beside him.

”You have an exceptional cook, Geralt,” Regis remarked as they finished their meal.

”I do?” Geralt answered, realizing he had not been by the estate since delivering Marlene, and did not even know who he was currently employing.

”Miss Trastamara, or Marlene, as she likes to be called, has been quite taken with the kitchens, sir,” Barnabas-Basil informed him from the doorway, having reappeared. ”She has expressed an interest in staying at your service.”

”Absolutely, she can stay as long as she likes,” Geralt answered, finding it in himself to smile at long last.

The baths had been prepared as they ate. They were nothing but two simple vats filled with hot water, but at that point neither of them felt like staying longer than was absolutely necessary. Geralt stripped methodically, piling his dirty armor in the corner and distantly wondering who would pick it up come morning. He heard Regis washing himself, his clothes naturally folded neatly on a bench by the door.

He spied two dressing gowns hanging near the door. He dressed himself in the bigger one and found it was made of silky smoot cotton. It felt good against his skin, different from the rough materials he was used to. He held out the smaller one for Regis, who chuckled as he let Geralt drape it over his shoulders. Geralt drew him close, enjoying the clean smell and the heat. He leaned down, kissing Regis behind the ear.

”Hey.”

He felt the vampire shudder in his arms, as he twisted around and brought his arms around Geralt's neck. Just as Geralt registered Regis' smile was a bit hungry, a massive yawn forced itself out of his mouth. He heard Regis snorting with laughter, even as he succumbed to a yawn of his own. They really needed the sleep. Regis grinned, favoring him with a quick peck on the lips.

”So, you mentioned something about a proper bed?”

***

The following morning greeted them with sunshine and a promise of a hot day. Geralt woke up slowly, allowing himself the luxury of not immediately jumping out of bed when he opened his eyes. His internal clock told him it was only about eight in the morning. He could have fallen back asleep, but the memories from last night kept bothering him. They had three days to solve this mess.

Everything weighed heavily on his shoulders. Despite what Regis had said, Geralt felt he was somehow responsible. And to think that less than a week ago he had ridden to Toussaint, feeling like he had managed to shed some of the guilt that had been dragging him down.

”Good morning,” a sound disturbed his brooding. Regis was snuggled up close, his head resting on Geralt's arm. Alright, he was also a part of the reason Geralt had not gotten out of the bed right away.

Regis opened his eyes and smiled.

”Morning,” Geralt answered. ”Sleep well?” he asked, turning to face Regis. His lover nodded, bringing his left arm around his shoulders.

”Very well, considering the circumstances. You make an excellent pillow,” Regis murmured, still smiling.

”I'm talented like that,” Geralt grinned. He wanted nothing more than to kiss him and then let the events unfold, but he already felt guilty about lingering in bed when he should be doing his job.

Regis was watching his face intently and leaned over to kiss him. He had a determined look on his face.

”I know you want to get to work as soon as possible, my dear, but hear me out. I want to take care of you. Right now, before we are forced to delve into this mess of things. We cannot know how long this will take or what will come to pass, so I would love nothing more dearly than to spend a small moment with you before it all begins.” He smiled gently and cupped Geralt's cheek. ”I promise I will not keep you from your duties all day. That can wait until this is sorted out,” he added, his smile sly.

Geralt, who was after all mostly just a human, couldn't think of anything that would have convinced him to say no to that. He kissed Regis, enjoying the feel of his body flush with his beneath the clean sheets. Regis took control of the kiss immediately, licking into his mouth. He held Geralt's head in place as he took his breath away, leaving the witcher panting and his lips tingling.

Regis looked at him, narrowing his eyes.

”You look perfect, my love.”

He pushed Geralt to lie on his back, coming to rest on top of him. Geralt could not hope to hide his erection, but he somehow felt he didn't need to; Regis was growing equally hard against him, and the feeling was driving him crazy. Regis even ground down, once, drawing a moan from him.

”Yes, very good,” he breathed. ”I will have more of those sounds, before this is over.” He grabbed Geralt's hands and placed them over his head. ”You keep them there, love. You're not allowed to touch.”

Geralt could have voiced what the thought of that, but right then Regis started to suck and bite on his neck, and oh hell, he had almost managed to forget how sensitive he was there. The vampire took care not to draw blood, but he certainly knew what he was doing. Geralt gripped the bedpost to prevent himself from touching Regis. The bastard had lifted his hips so that his cock was not touching Geralt's anymore, and still he aready felt wound up tight.

When Regis moved on to his chest and nipples, giving each scar he encountered along the way some special attention, Geralt had abandoned all pretense of control and didn't even try to stifle the noices he made.

”Regis, please-” he panted as his lover's tongue dragged a long, excruciating line through his lower abdomen.

”Yes?” Regis purred, sucking on the sensitive skin just above his groin. ”Can you manage a whole sentence?”

”Fuck you.”

”Very good, but I rather think it will be the other way around,” Regis whispered and took Geralt into his mouth.

Geralt felt his back arch and a low whine worked its way out. Regis talking dirty was quickly making him lose himself entirely. The vampire licked and sucked on him very slowly and started to work him open at the same time. Where he had found the oil he was using, Geralt did not know, but he was ready bet a few hundred Crowns the bastard carried it around in his satchel.

Regis let his cock fall free from his mouth as he grinned at Geralt. The witcher realized he had been gripping the bedpost so hard his knuckles were white as snow.

”You're doing so well,” Regis purred just as he pushed a third finger into him and then crooked them _just so_ , making Geralt's eyes close in pleasure. ”You're gorgeous, and I will do with you as I please,” Regis continued, chasing that sweet spot until Geralt felt he could cry.

”Fuck me, Regis, please, I'm so close,” he managed, wondering if that counted as a whole sentence. It did, apparently. Regis surged forwards, kissing the last bit of breath out of him.

”Hearing you ask for it makes me want to please you, in turn,” Regis whispered just before he slowly pushed in. Geralt gasped. It felt so good. It was almost too much, knowing it was Regis who filled him so perfectly.

Regis watched him closely, his face very gentle.

”You may touch,” he said, his voice breathless as he started to move. Geralt immediately let his hands run down Regis' back and his ass, holding him even closer.

”Gods, Regis, you feel- I can't-” he panted, wondering how long he would last.

Not very long, he decided, when Regis wrapped his hand around his throbbing cock and started to work it in the same rhythm as he fucked him with. Geralt tried to bite his fist to stop himself from getting too loud, and the sight apparently did something to Regis. He increased the tempo. His eyes were blown black and he looked wondering.

”You have no idea how amazing you look, trying to stifle your noises,” he groaned. ”I like it very much. Makes me want to gag you, first with my fingers, then maybe with a piece of cloth as I fuck you,” he continued, his voice sounding rough and raw and his claws gripping Geralt's hips so hard there would surely be dark marks later.

Geralt felt himself being slowly tipped over the edge and he came, loosing himself in the moment of bliss. He felt Regis let himself go, not holding back anymore, the sight of his release apparently too much for him. Geralt felt him follow over the edge a moment later.

Regis took him in his arms immediately afterwards, kissing him and not letting him catch his breath.

”I love you,” he murmured against Geralt's lips. ”I love you more and more every day.”

”Love you too,” Geralt answered, still winded. Regis smiled, and didn't loosen his hold one bit. Being held so close after sex felt almost odd. He allowed Regis to stroke his hair and kiss him, clearly wanting to give this, too, to him. Geralt was so used to being the one who usually held others up. Receiving the aftercare made him feel almost out of place.

”Let go,” Regis whispered, again demonstrating his ability to read Geralt's mind without invading it. ”Let me take care of you, as I promised I would. This is a part of it. You can let go, now.” He kissed Geralt again.

Geralt let his muscles unwind slowly, enjoying the lazy kisses. He stopped looking for control in the situation and just soaked in the warmth Regis radiated. He was trapped inside the ring of Regis' arms, but it didn't feel alarming. It felt very safe. He felt his pulse slow down, his breathing evened, and finally he could tell he felt much better. Even compared to the bliss that the sex had provided, this felt all kinds of awesome, too.

He felt Regis smile against his temple.

”Just so. I can smell your stress hormone levels have dropped. It makes me happy.”

”Don't get used to it,” Geralt mumbled, not opening his eyes. He wanted to brand this moment to his memory, to be able to call it back later.

”It will do you good. You will do much better when you let yourself unwind.”

”Lucky thing I've got you to force me to do it, then.”

Regis regarded him silently for a while, and then stroked his cheek. ”And I'm lucky I've got you, my love,” he said matter-of-factly. Geralt wondered how he came up with that stuff and said it with a straight face, but didn't really mind; it felt nice, being both loved and needed.

  


**II**

As they made their way towards the balcony overlooking the city of Beauclair, Geralt could feel a dark, apprehensive cloud settle over his head. They had not found Dettlaff. They had not found any kind of solution to the mess. They had been going around in circles all the time, not catching a rest and not getting anywhere. It had been long three days, especially considering how he had constantly felt like they were running out of time.

Regis was walking right beside him, looking grim and gripping his satchel's strap. Geralt was feeling bad about answering his questions rudely moments ago, but he was on edge. Something threatening was looming over them, still just out of reach.

”What do people usually do when you can't finish a job?” Regis asked, still conciliatory.

”Eh, depends,” Geralt sighed. ”Peasants cuss me out. Merchants demand I refund their deposit.” He saw Regis raise an eyebrow. ”Nobles usually just release their hounds,” he continued, trying for a joke that fell flat.

”And rulers?” Regis asked, his tone wary.

”Usually threaten me with the gallows.”

Before Regis managed to find a reply to that the guard motioned them to follow him.

Up on the balcony he could hear Anna Henrietta threaten Palmerin, who had just been delivering the message from the general populace. Geralt had known the news about Syanna had been leaked. It had been the talk of the town all the time he had been running around and chasing leads. He was not surprised to hear the duchess had not changed her mind; if anything, she was defending her sister more fervently than before. He sighed, steeling himself. The dark cloud sunk lower, drowning out the sounds around him.

It went exactly as he had feared. The duchess treated him like he was some simple errand boy who had managed to spill wine on her favorite gown. Geralt tried to find some common ground at first. Then he saw her condescending smile and could tell it was of no use. He bowed his head, trying to calm his temper, and waited for the Duchess to stop her monologue. All the while he could hear the badly-concealed titters issuing from the gathered nobles around them.

”You have had a week, and you have brought me absolutely nothing. I'm beginning to think my beagles would have done a better job.”

”Then perhaps Your Grace should have send a beagle instead of a witcher after a vampire,” he answered, his voice rough and betraying his emotions to everyone with ears to listen.

He knew he had made a mistake as the words left him, but he didn't care. He was so angry, being treated like a fool when he had brought back her precious sister. Hell, he had tried his damndest to curb the bloodshed, despite the duchess making his job nigh impossible.

He heard the gasps, saw Palmerin reach for his sword, and in the corner of his eye he caught Regis looking at him, his dark eyes alarmed.

”You tread on thin ice, witcher. Very thin.” Anna Henrietta's voice was deathly calm, and Geralt knew that no matter how this ended, he had indeed managed to make a royal enemy. He seemed to specialize in getting on royalty's nerves, as he had always managed to get a rise out of Emhyr, too. Somehow he felt like Anna Henrietta was actually the worse person to displease, now that he had managed to piss off both of them.

When the duchess finally moved on, Regis rushed to provide explanations, clearly afraid Geralt would land himself into a prison cell if he was allowed to continue talking.

But Regis' calm tones were interrupted. Geralt smelled blood even before he could whip around.

”Your Grace! Vampires!” the horrified guard managed to yell before he collapsed. His chest had been slashed open, by a bruxa or an alp, if Geralt was not entirely mistaken.

”What? Speak, now!” The Duchess commanded.

”Vampires, they've attacked the city! Captain de la Tour defends the square near the boat landing... But, so many lives lost-”

When he looked over the bannister, Geralt could see and hear what he had been too preoccupied to notice until now: thousands of lesser vampires, approaching the city. He wasn't entirely clear what the Duchess presumed he might do when she told him to solve this, but she was interrupted by a guardsman's head landing at her feet. Geralt saw the bruxa on the upper landing, its wild eyes glowing in the dark.

”Get her out of here,” he growled to Regis, as he unsheathed his silver sword and grabbed a vial of black blood.

***

”Syanna failed to appear, and Dettlaff does not make idle threats,” Regis said when he found him some time later. The vampire grasped his hands and looked him over. ”You're bleeding.”

”It's nothing,” Geralt growled. ”Need to make some serious plans of our own, Regis. It's gone too damn far.”

The bruxa had been a nasty one, clearly one of Dettlaff's inner circle and dead-bent on hurting him as much as possible. Her claws had slashed through her armors weak spots like they were nothing.

”I didn't want to believe he would do this,” Regis mumbled, more to himself than to Geralt. He looked sad and disappointed. Geralt wanted to comfort him, but the situation was escalating around them and they needed to act.

”Regis, you said earlier there is a way to draw Dettlaff out. Something you refused to do because it was too dangerous?” he asked.

”Is that how I put it? Do forgive me, then, I've misled you terribly. The word 'dangerous' is simply a scandalous understatement in this case,” Regis answered, going a shade paler and backing off a step.

”No monologues now, Regis,” he interrupted, grasping his hand to stop him. ”You need to tell me.”

”I will, I promise. But first, do consider the alternative. We could fulfill Dettlaff's demand and free his beloved Syanna.”

Geralt scoffed. ”Do you still think Dettlaff believes she is innocent?”

Regis shook his head, looking solemn. ”He must suspect something. And he seeks to understand what happened.”

”And for that, he's declared war on the entire duchy?” Geralt bit out, his volume rising slightly. He felt like he could have laughed if the situation was not so horribly dangerous.

”Moderation was never his strong suit,” Regis answered, his tone betraying his own nerves.

Geralt shrugged, not like he could disagree with that. ”So what are you suggesting? Are you really sure Dettlaff will simply back down if we bring Syanna to him?”

”I do. Dettlaff is not evil, you know that as well as I do. He needs to speak with Syanna, needs to resolve this. He will spare the city,” Regis answered. He didn't sound entirely convinced himself, and Geralt didn't like that.

But he was right on the account of Dettlaff not being evil in his core. Geralt knew that, because he had looked into his memories. Now that he knew the whole scheme, he could distinguish the agony of not being able to help the one he loved from the jumble of emotions he had felt with the Resonance.

And knowing Syanna had been using him made him feel sick. He realized he was actually hurting for Dettlaff. He could never understand the way he attacked the city, but he knew that rage of trying to save someone and then being betrayed for that love.

”Fine, say we take Syanna to him. No way Anna Henrietta will agree with that.”

”I do not recall suggesting we ask for he permission,” Regis smiled, relieved to see he was at least willing to listen.

”What if it goes south? What if there's a fight?” he had to ask. ”Who will guarantee Syanna's safety? I need an answer to that, Regis.” He did not like pressing the point like this, because if they did this, ultimately they would both be responsible for how it turned out.

”I promise I will do my utmost that she comes to no harm,” Regis answered him, knowing why he was asking in the first place. They were in this together. There was only one last thing to ask.

”Regis, forgive me for this, but I must know,” he begun, his stomach churning for what he was about to say. ”If it does not go well, if it comes to battle... Who will you stand with?” His voice was quiet, but he knew Regis heard him.

”I am not asking only because we have this...thing between us, you know that, don't you?” he added, because that was true, as well.

”Should it come to that, I will not stand in your way,” Regis answered him, squeezing his hand and looking crestfallen. ”And yes, I do know why you are asking, love. You would not be you if you had not done so. I've had time to consider this, and now you have my answer”

He pressed his brow to Regis' for a second, trying to convey his feelings, and then he started running towards the square where the guard had said captain de la Tour was holding the line. He heard Regis follow him.

***

He had tried the doorhandle only once when he heard the lock give a satisfying _click_ and the door opened.

”Thanks,” he chuckled, seeing Regis sweep a bow that would have put Emhyr's chamberlain to shame.

”At your service.”

He searched the room, muttering to himself as he usually did when he worked. Only now Regis was with him and provided his own commentary. It didn't bother him; mostly it made him wish for a chance to work on contracts together when this mess was sorted out, so he might be treated to similar amusement while inspecting alghoul traces in the middle of nowhere. The thought had surprising appeal.

When he found the governess' diary, he knew he had hit the mark. Regis didn't seem convinced until he got as far as the book and the illusion. Then it was only a matter of finding the book.

He thought of the diary as he gave the room another once-over. He was definitely feeling sorry for Syanna; she had been branded a black sheep so long ago it was no wonder she was angry and seeking vengeance. But he also had to admit his empathy only went so far. The mistreated girl had grown up into a cunning woman who was now using the people around her as she pleased. Not every abused child Geralt had met had grown up to be cruel.

He felt a faint headache forming as he finally discovered the key to the cabinet. He would need to talk to Syanna when he found her. No other way to discern her true motives.

***

The giant fell with a satisfying _thunk_. Geralt sheathed his silver sword, wondering idly whether he would need to sharpen it when they got back to the real world. Syanna was regarding him, clearly assessing the situation.

”Still coming back with me?” he asked her, not in the mood for any more games. He'd frankly had his fill of fairy tales and this illusion long ago. It was jarring, wrong in subtle ways as well as the obvious ones. And having to cooperate with Syanna only made it worse. Geralt had tried and tried again to get a sense of her, tried to see the human behind the baravado. And he had seen her, in brief glimpses. But Syanna had seemed determined to hide that side, treating it like something she considered paltry and beneath herself. But she was still smiling, clearly satisfied she had been the object of his attention for so long now.

Geralt still could not make up his mind. The way Syanna talked about her sister and their shared past implied genuine feelings of love, but otherwise... Geralt was reminded of Avallac'h and his way of never offering a simple answer. He didn't usually do it because the answers were complex, but simply because the elf enjoyed watching him stuggle to understand. Syanna had the same malign manner in her.

”I would like to have a last wish.” Syanna's voice broke through his thoughts. She was standing very close to him, suddenly gripping his hand and her voice dropping to something softer. ”I need a man, Geralt. I have no idea what awaits me when we leave this world. Treat it as my last wish.”

Geralt blinked twice, his mind suddenly empty. Before he managed to form any rational thoughts, he was backing off. The woman pursed her lips, looking sullen. ”Really?” she asked, now sounding scornful. ”Am I not beautiful enough? Every other man has certainly thought so.”

”Every other man?” Geralt bit back. ”Dettlaff on that list, too? And what about him, anyway?” he growled. Syanna looked at him, a mocking grin spreading on her face.

”Really, Geralt. I thought you were the last person to believe in stories. Especially after our shared little adventure.” Syanna turned her back to him, shrugging. ”There is no true love. The good doesn't prevail.” She paused, cocking her head. ”You think I'm cruel and vain. It is true, I can't deny it. But I'm also much more. Ambitious, for example.”

”Let's go already,” Geralt said, liking the woman less by the second. He couldn't know how her relationship with Dettlaff had been in the past, but nothing seemed to prevent Syanna from trying to benefit from it now. Between her and the vampire, Geralt could easily point his finger to the more decent person.

***

He jumped into the well and managed to break his fall from the portal by rolling.

”The portal's in a fountain?” he asked, getting to his feet. ”Not terribly practical.”

Syanna shrugged, having landed with more grace. ”It was a secret passage. Anarietta and I would use it-”

”To hide from your governess,” Regis finished for her, stepping out from behind a tree. ”Luckily, she noted that down. I knew where to wait for you.” He gripped Geralt's hand, looking relieved and happy to see him. Geralt didn't like the way Syanna's eyes lingered on the contact.

”Nevermind that. Has the young lady agreed to help clean up the mess she's made?” Regis continued, glancing at Syanna and not bothering to hide his dislike. The woman saw his expression and stalked forward, coming to stand toe-to-toe with Regis.

”She has. And stop treating me like I'm a child,” she quipped.

”Would you prefer I treated you like the lying manipulator you are?” Regis answered her, narrowing his eyes. Geralt didn't bother to acknowledge the mutual hatred he was starting to feel in the air.

”Let's go. Really want to be done with this,” he said, raising his voice enough that both Regis and Syanna closed their mouths.

The ride to Tesham Mutna was uneventful. They kept Syanna and her mount between them at all times, so she had no way to escape. Geralt also suspected she knew Regis was not human, and that probably helped to temper her wishes to make a run for it. They didn't speak apart from what was absolutely necessary, so Geralt had plenty of time to think about the events of the night.

He was still set on returning Syanna safely back to Anna Henrietta. He would have nothing to do with either for the rest of his life, if he could help it. He didn't give a lick about the reward or the vineyard, he knew could make do without either. Barnabas-Basil would handle himself with all the usual grace, and he'd help Geralt find a place for Marlene.

No, what bothered him was Dettlaff and his fate. Geralt was feeling sorry for him. The vampire had been dragged into this mess only because he had trusted the wrong person. Geralt had felt his confusion lacing every interaction with humans, and Regis' description was starting to make sense: Dettlaff did not understand the human maze of motives. He was too different to his core to be grasp that fundamental difference.

Even comparing Dettlaff to Regis felt weird, because the dark vampire had none of Regis' eloquence and talent to twist words for his benefit. Dettlaff reminded Geralt more of a boy he had met in Skellige, many years ago; the lad had been unable to grasp any kind of a metaphor or an unspoken rule of speech, but he'd had an astonishing memory of the terrain and the people around him. The comparison was not perfect, but close enough. For some reason, Geralt thought Dettlaff would have found the boy's company enjoyable.

And instead of accepting those traits in him, Syanna had decided to use him.

How many times had he watched a similar sequence unfold? Some unfortunate soul got into trouble way bigger than what they were equipped to handle, either because they made a mistake, or because someone else sensed they could be taken advantage of. The story always had a similar ending, too. The real enemy walked free and the scapegoat was punished.

Geralt shook his head, trying to clear it. He was angry and disappointed at the people in power, not for the first time. He could feel the decision taking form in his mind, finally becoming a solid thing he could grasp. He would try to do everything in his power to help Dettlaff, to see he got out unharmed. Regis' insistence on saving his friend had been almost enough to turn Geralt's head, but after listening to Syanna's side of it, he was certain. He could not kill Dettlaff and let Syanna walk free. Anna Henrietta's words rang in his head as he made up his mind, but he reasoned some jail time was worth the lightness of conscience.

”We're here,” Regis said in a low voice from behind him and bringing his focus back to the present moment. The fortress loomed in front of them, looking as derelict and abandoned as the last time he had visited. They left their horses at the foot of the stairs. He let Syanna drag behind them, figuring they would catch her if she ran.

***

”Nervous?” he asked her, when she finally reached the place where they stood and continued pacing.

”May I be honest? Yes. I know I gave you my word, but how much is that worth, really?” she said, leaning on a wall. ”But, I will stay. I owe Dettlaff this meeting.” She did not look happy about having been made to come. Geralt felt fairly certain she had really thought Anarietta would prevent her for leaving the castle. She was just trying to save face and survive, now that she actually was here.

”Get ready then, he will be here soon.”

  


**III**

Geralt didn't notice the red mist until it had completely encircled Syanna. He and Regis sprang to their feet, wary to approach.

”Syanna, Syanna... I've a question I must ask you.” The voice drifted out of the night, full of anger and sorrow.

He saw the look of terror on Syanna's face. The looming darkness that had hung over him all these days seemed to have descended with Dettlaff's arrival. When he took form, the vampire towered over Syanna, his face a grimace.

”Did you truly feign it all? That which bound us was a...ruse?” Dettlaff asked, cringing away from her touch. He was coiled up, all his power seemingly ready to spring free. It made Geralt start towards them, but slowly, so as not to cause alarm. Time seemed to be acting funnily, moving in chunks and clips.

”Dettlaff, it's not that simple. I-” Syanna answered, trying to sound calm and brave, but Geralt smelled her fear. He felt like he was wading through a swamp, unable to get there quickly enough.

”It's very simple,” Dettlaff whispered, his voice catching. ”You either deceived me... or not.” Syanna had nothing else to offer Dettlaff, her mouth simply opening and closing, and Geralt knew this was the end of her line. He reached for his silver sword, not really knowing what he was planning to do. Fighting Dettlaff would be his end.

”In forgiving you I grieve, for now me must part.”

He tried to run, get his sword up, anything. He saw Regis moving, always faster than him; even he was late.

He heard the sickening _crunch_ , as Dettlaff's claws tore through Syanna. He heard her frantic heart shudder to a halt with the last _phamp, pha-_ , and knew Dettlaff's aim had been accurate. He stopped, barely having moved a few steps, because any of it did not matter. Syanna was already dead.

He heard Regis' thick, incredulous whisper, _”What have you done?”_ The vampire was frozen in place too, looking like he could not believe what he had just witnessed.

They had failed. Dettlaff had managed to destroy all their careful plans, leaving nothing to be recovered. He wondered whether Dettlaff had already decided what he would do before he had arrived here.

Dettlaff materialized in front of Geralt, causing the witcher to blink away the haze that had fallen over him. Looking at the vampire, Geralt saw his eyes were wet and his hands shook minutely. Dettlaff was holding it all in, but with enormous effort.

”Beauclair will know peace once more. The vampires will leave the city by dawn,” he said, his voice tight.

”I shall leave as well. Go far away. Away from men,” he continued, addressing Regis. Geralt shook his head, trying to break free from this nightmare.

”That's it?” he managed to choke out, as Dettlaff made to turn. ”You will just go, after all you've done?”

Dettlaff looked at him, and his expression reminded Geralt of the evening they had met at Orianna's. He was assessing him as a threat, but there was also a thread of hope in his eyes. He did not wish to fight them, Geralt realized.

”That is what I must do, if you choose not to stand in my way,” he said, not offering an explanation. ”Geralt, Regis, farewell.” He turned his back, clearly giving him a moment to make his decision. When there was no attack forthcoming, he turned into mist. Geralt followed him with his gaze until he vanished into the night.

***

”Geralt, I am so sorry,” Regis whispered, having at some point moved to stand next to him. ”I swore to protect her.” The witcher looked at Regis, taking in the frightened look in his eyes, and did not find it in himself to be angry. Regis had tried to save Dettlaff and he would have tried to save Syanna, had Dettlaff not been beyond any reasoning.

”I'm not blaming you,” he answered. ”I know you would have tried, had you got the chance. Neither of us knew Dettlaff had made up his mind before he appeared.” Saying it aloud seemed to solidify his judgement of the events. Regis shook his head. He looked queasy.

”What have we done?” he asked no one in particular.

”We let Dettlaff walk free,” Geralt shrugged, feeling empty. ”He was unwillingly entangled in Syanna's scheme, so at least we made sure he didn't die for trusting her.” It was a pale sort of comfort, though. He knew what awaited him back in Beauclair. He had been expecting to go back and receive scorn and hatred, even with Syanna unharmed. It was going to be so much worse when he brought back her mutilated body.

”Regis, listen to me,” he said, forcing himself to abandon the feelings and concentrate on the situation, drawing resolve from his witcher mutations. ”I need to take Syanna's body back, let Anna Henrietta know.” He saw Regis open his mouth, and cut in: ”Alone.”

Regis' hand gripped his shoulders, his eyes wide. ”No! They will blame you for all of this.”

”That is exactly what they will do. You are already walking a thin line with the duchess as it is. I will not put you in danger of being discovered,” he told the vampire. He knew the duchess was suspicious of Regis, and the thought of letting her lay her ring-encrusted hands on him and perform experiments to determine his true nature made him sick. Especially when he knew Regis would probably not fight back out of guilt.

Regis was still shaking his head, his hands gripping Geralt's biceps hard enough to bruise. ”I can't do it. I will not. How do you expect me to live with myself? We did this together-”

Geralt kissed him, then, to get him to shut up and because he felt like he would burst if he didn't. Regis groaned and kissed him back, his desperation evident in the way he gripped Geralt's hair. It was a long kiss with hints of sadness creeping in from the edges. Finally, Geralt pulled back.

”You will live, and so will I. You heard what they said, they do not lynch people in Toussaint. Yeah, I will be called a vile traitor and thrown behind the bars, but I will get out eventually. In any case, I went into this prepared to do some time in the Beauclair prison,” he added, when Regis looked like he might continue protesting.

”You- what?” he blinked, stroking his hair idly. He didn't understand.

”I've been thinking about this, Regis. I knew kidnapping Syanna put me into Anna Henrietta's list of enemies. But I had decided I'd help Dettlaff, because it was the _right fucking thing_ to do, and I'm tired of feeling guilty about my choices all the time.” He sighed, letting his gaze fall. ”I'm sorry Regis, but we can get through this. I need you to swear on anything you hold dear that you will not follow me, and that you will not try anything stupid while I'm away.”

In the silence that followed, he risked a glance at his lover. What he saw froze him in place. Regis' eyes were screwed shut and he was drawing in heavy, controlled breaths. Geralt realized, with some shock, that the vampire was fighting back tears. He had never seen Regis cry.

He let his brow touch Regis', trying to reach him.

”Shh. It's going to be all right,” he whispered, reaching his hands up to hold Regis' face. Regis opened his eyes, and they looked like pools of ink.

”You stupid, selfless, reckless man,” he bit out, his voice catching. ”I do swear that, even when it hurts me badly. Do you have any idea that I love you more than I love life?” he finished, letting the last words come out choked and broken.

Geralt kissed him again, and again, until his head was spinning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #saveDettlaff


	6. To Live But Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say for myself.  
> If there was ever a soundtrack for a chapter, 'The Mundane and the Magic' by Dark Tranquillity would be it for this one.

**I**

Geralt woke in the dark and tasted blood.

He tried to turn his head, but a bolt of hot pain shot through it. He shut his eyes and concentrated on not fainting, counting down from hundred. When he got to thirty, the spinning had eased a bit. He opened his eyes again, but there was nothing to see; he was somewhere underground, judging by the moist and cold air, with no light whatsoever.

He tried to feel with his hands, but realized they were bound together behind his back with heavy manacles. He was lying on his side on what felt like cold stone. He was shirtless and very cold. Trying to draw his mind away from the situation, Geralt searched his memory, looking for clues as to where he was and why.

_He had returned to the palace with Syanna's body cradled in his arms. The guards had let him pass, but had taken his weapons. His feet had felt heavy, almost as heavy as his heart._

_When Anna Henrietta had seen her sister's body, she had let out a shriek of horror. Geralt had covered the wound with his spare shirt, but blood was seeping through. There had been a rush around him and the body had been taken away. Anna Henrietta had been screaming something._

_It was Damien de la Tour who had finally addressed him._

” _What have you got to say for yourself, witcher?” His voice was shaking with justified anger. Geralt bowed his head, feeling ashamed for betraying the newfound trust._

” _The Beast will never bother Beauclair again,” he said, his voice rasping. ”Your Grace,” he continued, addressing the weeping Duchess: ”Your sister was the only one who could stop the carnage. I'm sorry beyond words I could not protect her, but she died for you. For all of Beauclair.”_

_Anna Henrietta turned to look at him. Her eyes were red and she was shaking. Captain de la Tour hovered over her, looking ready to catch her should she faint._

” _Witcher.” Anna Henrietta's voice was soft and freezing cold. ”You took my sister away when I forbade it. You caused her death, and I see no trophy of the Beast.”_

_Geralt did not answer. It was all true, anyway._

” _I will never want to see your face again,” the Duchess continued, looking at him with sheer hostility. ”And I shall see that you will pay for this. Dearly.”_

_Suddenly she raised her head, taking in the room. Geralt glanced around as well, counting nine guards and de la Tour._

” _Not a word of this will spill outside of this room,” the Duchess said, letting her eyes meet each and everyone's. ”The witcher will be no more,” she continued, looking again at Geralt, who was starting to feel very bad about his plan._

” _He will...disappear.”_

Geralt could recall someone striking him from behind with something heavy, and then he had been overrun by the guards almost immediately. Someone had hit him in the head, because it was aching fiercely. They must have been beating him for quite a while after he lost consciousness. He wondered whether it had been the Duchess or captain de la Tour who had commanded them to stop. It didn't really matter, he decided.

He silently observed his body, still not daring to move. They had broken his ribs, two on the left and four on the right side. They were mending, but even witchers certainly knew when they broke bones. His left shoulder had been almost dislocated. His nose had been broken, and the blood had dried on his face and hair. There were so many minor aches and pains he didn't bother acknowledging them. He was wearing a pair of ragged trousers and nothing else.

What hurt the most was his heart. He had been doing what he thought was the right thing, and look where it landed him. He wondered what Vesemir would have said.

His thoughts ground to a halt as he heard steps outside the cell. The door was wrenched open and a guard entered.

”So, you're awake. Enjoying yourself?” The torch he was carrying was so bright it hurt Geralt's eyes. He closed them and didn't see the kick coming. It his him in the stomach, making him grunt with pain.

”I asked you a question, you filth,” the guard sneered.

”Fuck you,” Geralt managed, tasting blood where he had bit his tongue. The guard merely laughed.

”We will beat that out of you yet, you will see. Duquessa does not forgive, and she does not forget. You will rot here, and no one will know what happened to you.”

”Thought you didn't believe in lynching in Beauclair,” Geralt answered, spitting blood on the floor.

”Usually, no. But this is done on Her Grace's special orders. The word on the streets is that the White Wolf died fighting the invading vampires.” The man laughed. ”Tells something about her Grace's wrath that she does not care one bit what people say, as long as you stay here for the rest of your days.”

He plonked down a bowl and spat at him before slamming the door. The darkness returned.

***

It took him some tries, but Geralt managed to work his hands to his front. The effort tired him, and he sunk into something that was not quite sleep. It was still cold and dark when he came to, but this time he knew what to expect. He groped around the floor for the food and wolfed it down, not tasting what he ate.

Then he had nothing to do but wait. He sat his back against the wall and tried in vain to suppress the shivers. He tried to cast a sign, any of them really, but nothing happened. Dimeritium shackles, then. The dark was so absolute even his enhanced eyesight did nothing for him. There were no sounds except the whispers of his own breathing.

He remembered what Regis had told him about his time before Dettlaff had saved him.

” _You see, when you are stripped of all your senses and lose the world around you, you can easily lose your sense of self as well.”_

Geralt allowed himself to fall asleep when he could not hold it off any longer. He guards had given him some wounds which would not stop oozing blood and interstitial fluid, further leeching him of his strength. He had not wanted to be surprised, but the guard managed to catch him asleep when he next appeared. He kicked him again, left some food and water, and went away without a word.

There was no way to tell the time, and even as the witcher tried to count the hours, the guard that brought him food came and went with irregular intervals. After what Geralt estimated to be something between five days and a week he gave up trying to keep track. His injuries could not heal properly when he was given barely enough food to stay alive, and the constant pain wore his meditative state thin. The wounds throbbed, and he could tell infection was trying to set in on the ragged gash on his thigh (he had tried to feel it with tender fingers and had almost passed out from the pain when his fingernail had poked the inflamed tissue.) The cold got worse day by day. For the most part, he dozed, not bothering to stay awake and unable to fall into real sleep.

But if Anna Henrietta thought she could break him, she was mistaken. Sure, she could take away everything physical, but even as Geralt felt his physical strength wane, he was certain he had done the right thing. If this was how Anna Henrietta wanted to treat him after he had done his best to save her and her city, so be it. He would stay here, but she would not have the satisfaction of hearing Geralt admit she was right. Spite felt like as good a reason as any to stay alive, at that point.

***

Geralt thought of Ciri, when the long dark hours were hard to take or when the guard beat him up worse than usually. He remembered her as a little girl, how she had been running the Gauntlet in Kaer Morhen, flying through the obstacles with more and more grace as the years went by. He remembered how Eskel had been taken with her immediately, and how Lambert had insisted she was a nuisance like no other, until she had wormed her way into his heart, too. She had grown up so quickly, been all elbows and knees when she reached her teens.

He remembered how he had searched for her and finally found her in the Isle of Mists; how he had thought his heart would shatter when he thought her dead. He recalled the overwhelming joy when he had seen her open her eyes. He had known, then, that it had all been worth it. Fighting alongside her had been terrifying and amazing; his daughter of surprise, grown up and every bit as spectacular as he had thought.

He tried to imagine what kind of an Empress Ciri would become. Geralt had many things to say about Emhyr var Emreis, but the man was keenly interested in passing on his legacy to his daughter, so maybe he would do his best to prepare Ciri for the task. If fate was kind, she'd rule well and be loved by her subjects. Geralt was certain she would do everything in her power to make the world a better place. In the light of that knowledge, Ciri choosing to go to the court seemed like the sensible solution. He only regretted he had not had chance to make Regis meet her once again.

He thought of Milva, and Cahir, and Angoulême; how they had died to help him and how damn much he missed them all. He thought of Vesemir, hoping he was resting easy despite everything. He wondered whether Eskel had ever returned to the keep, or whether it was being taken over by nature after all these years. He hoped Lambert and Keira were happy. He wished the sorceress wouldn't let the last witcher get soft; knowing Keira Metz, Geralt felt certain Lambert was not getting off too easy.

He managed a smile in the darkness when he remembered Dandelion. He hoped Priscilla was getting better and that they could hold on to the Chameleon. Zoltan would see to it, he mused, even if Dandelion was unable to.

When he finally allowed himself to think of Regis, he almost broke down, his head drooping low and his body burning with fever by then. He felt cold and hot at the same time. A distant memory from childhood told him he was in serious trouble. At some point, he gave up trying to sit up and let his body collapse on the cold stone floor.

His mind had catalogued everything about Regis, it seemed. He could recall how he had felt his heart stutter when he had seen the vampire again in the warehouse. How the hope had been kindled at once, like the years didn't matter, and how Regis had seemed to feel the same. It had been scary, but the heat had burned all the fear away. He'd never had to be afraid he would not be enough for Regis. Maybe that had been the scariest part, learning to trust in that.

He remembered the taste of the moonshine, how the moon had hung in the sky above him as Regis had him there, under the open sky. And the time at Corvo Bianco... His heart gave a painful twitch when he remembered the way Regis had held him, almost forcing him to accept his care. He had felt brave then.

***

”My word. You look awful.”

The voice was familiar. Geralt's head was full of feverish heat when he tried to blink his eyes open. There was nothing to see, until a small, dim light penetrated the darkness. It originated from the hands of a beautiful woman wearing a simple, black silk dress. Her red hair was open, cascading over her right shoulder in a tumble of fire. In her hands she held a small, pale flame.

Orianna considered him, taking in his state with cool eyes.

”You knew it would end like this,” she finally said, crouching down to meet his eyes. Geralt tried to speak, but his throat was parched. He felt a shudder run through him, and the cold seemed to breach further into his body. Orianna's face was impassive.

”You hold Regis' heart,” she said, not acknowledging his agony in any way. ”It's not meant to be. Never was.” She seemed angry, Geralt thought. It sent a small spark of satisfaction through him.

”Sorry 'bout that,” he managed to croak out. Orianna smiled at that.

”It does not matter. You don't matter. I should thank you for saving Dettlaff, but I do not like you, Geralt of Rivia. You are not one of us, so I owe you nothing. I came to see you die, but I think waiting for it would be a waste of my time.”

She rose to her feet, ready to leave. Geralt tried to clear his throat.

”Why does it matter?” he managed, not really knowing what he meant. Orianna turned to cast a last look at him. She looked pleased.

”You are but a human. We are so much more. It's time Regis saw that, too,” she whispered. Then she sighed and turned into mist, disappearing.

It was almost ironical that the guard chose that exact moment to appear. He was in a foul mood, too. Geralt was on edge, sensing his temper, but he had been in the dark and cold so long his body could not defend itself anymore. He sunk into something deep and murky afterwards, not daring to hope for anything any longer.

  
  


**II**

Light burst from somewhere, hurting his eyes. Geralt could not focus his gaze. He was hurting and freezing and wished to go back to sleep, or whatever that uneasy slumber had been. He had not been awake for a long while, it seemed. A violent shiver went through him, causing him to hiss through his teeth as his chest jangled with ragged pieces of pain.

”I was told he wasn't hurt!”

”Who are you to tell us anyth-”

”I have the order for his release _right here_ , you stinking travestry of a person. Get him up, and be careful! He's bleeding, for Melitele's sake.”

”Sure, sure, but the Duquessa-”

”Has personally signed this mandate! I do not expect you know how to read, but know that if you dally a moment longer I will take great care to have you replace my friend in this godforsaken cell!”

_ Dandelion?  _ Was all Geralt could think, before he was lifted from the cell floor by two pairs of strong hands. The world spun. He retched but his stomach had nothing in it, and then he was sinking again.

He was distantly aware of being placed on something wonderfully soft and then that something moving and rocking slightly. He tried to open his eyes without much success, and someone put a cool, soft hand on his forehead.

”You're burning up, Geralt,” he heard the man who sounded suspiciously like Dandelion say.

_But Dandelion is not welcome in Beauclair. What the hell is happening?_

”Regis has been tearing his hair out. Oh, Regis! He's back! Right, you probably knew that already. You're probably not even listening to me, seeing as you're unconscious,” the man babbled, sounding vaguely alarmed and very much indeed like Dandelion in moments of distress.

”Everyone else is waiting for us at Corvo Bianco. You never told me you have a vineyard!”

The platform gave a lurch and Geralt moaned as the movement sent a stab of pain through him. Then the darkness took him again.

***

Geralt felt like he was rising through a soft cloud. He was hurting, but it was muted, almost not like any problem of his at all. The shivering was still there, but not as bad as it had been. Through the haze he thought he could hear voices; no, agitated talking, but it seemed far away and not really his concern, either.

”-didn't bother to tell anyone!”

”-not your...!”

”-never keeps us up to date...”

”-no time...”

_ I know that voice, _ he thought, but couldn't place it. He only knew it made him feel safe and warm.

”...knows what he's d-”

_ That sounds like Ciri, _ he thought, almost smiling. Whatever they had dosed him with, it had given him some good dreams. A nice break from the nightmare of the prison cell.

”He's stirring, you're disturbing him,” an unfamiliar voice interrupted the conversation, the sound coming from close by. ”Might I ask you to take this argument downstairs?”

”I'm staying,” the safe voice answered. There was a distant muttering, coming from further away.

”You know perfectly well why.”

Then there was a long silence, not broken by any sounds. He was drifting into real sleep again, when he felt cool lips press a kiss on his brow.

”Please come back to me, love.”

***

Geralt woke up slowly, opening his eyes warily. The room was dark, but even that much light was hurting his eyes. He blinked, trying to command his pupils to adjust. As the room slowly came into focus, he realized he was in his own bedroom in Corvo Bianco. Judging by the sky, it was past midnight. On the bedside table stood several vials and bottles full of murky liquids.

Geralt turned his head, not raising it from the pillows, and saw Regis.

The vampire was sleeping, leaning his head on his blanket-covered legs, in dire danger of sliding down from the chair he was occupying. His eyes had dark circles around them and he looked deathly pale, but otherwise unharmed. Geralt felt warmth wash over him; if Regis was here with him, he was safe. He reached his hand over the quilt, stroking his hair gently.

Regis jolted awake, his eyes momentarily panicked and vacant. Then he saw Geralt was awake and slammed a hand in front of his mouth. His eyes were so scared it hurt some deep part inside Geralt. Instead of showing it, Geralt tried to smile.

”Hey. Missed you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse. How long had he been out of it?

Regis kneeled down on the floor, bringing his hands to cup Geralt's face.

”Gods- I-” he choked, before breaking down. Geralt saw the tears finally spill before the vampire buried his face in the blanket. He heaved, looking like he had been on the verge of this for so long there was nothing else to do but let it all out. Geralt stroked Regis' hair, letting him sob into the cloth, murmuring gentle nonsense for a long while. He would have liked nothing better than to gather Regis in his arms, but even the thought tired him.

It took a while, but eventually Regis calmed enough to draw in some deep breaths. Then he raised his head, his eyes wandering over Geralt's face. His hand returned to cup his cheek.

”I am so sorry,” Regis whispered, sounding wrecked. ”I had my raven spying on you, forgive me, but it was too long until we knew what was happening and got you out-” he said, his voice rasping. He looked so haunted Geralt put a finger to his lips.

”Regis, I'm here now. I'm fine. Don't worry,” he said. Regis looked at him like he had just told him he wished to return to the cell.

”Fine? Geralt, you've had eight broken ribs, a broken nose, a concussion, and I didn't bother to count how many wounds and bruises. Your left kidney had almost stopped working because someone had kicked it, and it took two days to break your fever. That wound on your thigh is still infected,” he told him, looking haggard. Geralt felt a bit sheepish.

”Been through worse?” he tried, knowing it sounded stupid.

Regis buried his head in his hands again, but this time out of exasperation.

”I'm beginning to reconsider the sense of falling in love with you,” he murmured. He looked at Geralt again. ”I have been worried sick, even after we finally got you out. Cirilla brought one of her own healers with her, but that fever-”

”Ciri?” Geralt interrupted, his brain spinning. Regis nodded, finally finding his smile.

”She is the reason you're free, bless her.”

”She's here?” Geralt asked, incredulous.

”She's on an unofficial holiday,” Regis told him with a perfectly straight face before smiling again. ”You didn't think we would leave you alone in that cell, did you?”

Geralt tried to shrug, but the movement hurt and Regis glared at him, immediately spying his discomfort. ”I did make you swear...” he said instead, grinning a little now.

”You made me swear not to storm the prison by myself and force your escape,” Regis corrected him, looking affronted. ”You did not forbid me from seeking any and all help I could think of, including but not limited to your magnificent daughter and one court sorceress.”

Regis looked at his blank stare and smirked. ”You might know her, in fact. Raven hair, wears mostly black and white... Has a tendency to yell and thrown objects when she's upset.”

”Yen?!” Geralt croaked and started to cough. Regis passed him a glass of water and helped him sip it. After he finished he collapsed back against the pillows, feeling drained. Regis looked at him, his face a mix of fondness and irritation.

”You need to rest, I feel bad for having strained you,” he told Geralt, but he seemed less worried than moments before.

”Stay with me?” Geralt asked, not letting the vampire's hand go. ”C'mon, the bed is more than wide enough, you won't kick me out of it.”

Regis shook his head before lying down next to him and wrapping his arm across his chest. His face pressed against Geralt's neck and he inhaled deeply.

”I'm so happy you're here with me,” he whispered.

”I'm happy to be here,” Geralt chuckled, trying to press as close to Regis as possible. ”Love you.”

”I love you too. You have no idea how much.”

  
  


**III**

The next morning, Geralt was woken by someone landing on him. He heard someone yell at the attacker for being careless, but he recognized that smell, and peeked cautiously through his eyelids. Someone had drawn the curtains, so the room was dim, and he could see Ciri beaming at him. She hugged him so tight he thought he could hear three more ribs crack.

”Oh, Geralt, we were so worried,” she gasped, finally releasing him. Geralt grinned at her.

”No need, I had it all under control,” he said, trying for a serious tone and failing miserably. He heard a scoff from the door and saw Yen standing there, looking at him and looking equal parts annoyed and relieved. Her hair was sticking up this way and that, and she looked exhausted.  


”You were very nearly dead when Dandelion brought you in,” she said, crossing the room to sit at the foot of the bed. ”It was a stroke of luck that we had access to the best imperial healer, who happened to be visiting the court and who specializes in experimental treatments. I alone might not have managed to bring your fever down.” She looked a bit pale, having to admit she had needed the help of a non-mage in something. Geralt decided she need not be reminded of it, at least immediately.

”Thank you, Yen. And Ciri, you too. It's so good to see you both.” He sat up against the headboard, and was pleasantly surprised to discover he could do so without excessive discomfort. Ciri was fiddling with the blanket, looking at him with her green eyes full of questions.

”It was so crazy. Regis sought out Dandelion and Zoltan. It was a good thing they were both in town. They managed to reach me, and when Emhyr heard what had happened he-” she begun, but Geralt interrupted her.

”Emhyr? What the hell has he to do with anything?” he blurted out, feeling vaguely alarmed, half-expecting the Emperor to step out of his wardrobe.

Ciri chuckled. ”I'm just a crown princess, Geralt. My word has little weight when compared to that of the Duchess of Toussaint's. But if the  _Emperor of Nilfgaard_ et al. is of an opinion that a person he holds in high regard is being treated unjustly, he may very well order the Duchess to release him, with all lands and titles and holdings restored,” she said, grinning. ”Or at least, that's what the official mandate said. I think he merely wanted to scare the Duchess a bit, remind her who's in charge.”

Geralt's head was feeling very empty. _Emhyr_ had come to his aid? To a problem he had created himself?

”Why do I feel like there is a massive debt I suddenly owe to someone who's preposterously powerful?” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. Ciri and Yen laughed at that, clearly feeling none of the dread he felt crawling up his spine.

”I suspect he thinks you're even now, in fact,” Yennefer said finally, having laughed her fill. ”You did, after all, find his precious daughter some time ago, as far as I remember.”

Ciri beamed again. ”And Regis, he's back! He even apologized for scaring me back in Stygga, he's such a gentleman. He told us you have been solving some mystery together and it ended rather badly. He's been so worried about you we have not managed to drag the whole story out of him. But,” she continued, her eyes gleaming. ”Now you will spill it all, won't you?”

Geralt swallowed, wondering where he could hope to begin, when the door opened again and Regis entered with Dandelion and the healer. The latter was a man of fifty, gaunt and tired-looking. Geralt suddenly had a creeping suspicion the man had been on duty around the clock ever since his dying arse had been dragged in.

”I have been informed you are feeling better,” the man said, his voice surprisingly strong and carrying a trace of a foreign accent. ”My name is Harald. I must ask you to remain in bed for a few more days, master Geralt. Some of your bones had to be broken again to set them properly, and while master Regis was as careful as he could, the overall damage has been great.” Geralt nodded, trying to concentrate on the man and not let his gaze slip to Regis. The vampire was standing near the door, looking at him with a soft smile.

Dandelion wrestled Ciri from her place and sat down. Geralt noticed he had not shaved for what seemed like several days, and his mustache was getting a little out of hand.

”Geralt! I really must implore you not to land yourself into such predicaments in the future. I have officially exhausted all the goodwill dear Anarietta might have held for me,” he said sternly before bursting out laughing and hugging him. Geralt felt his grin stretch wide as he hugged his friend back.  


”'Dear Anarietta' is the reason he was beaten to a pulp,” Ciri remarked dryly, but did not press the point. Geralt leaned his head back, enjoying the glow of having all his loved ones in one place at once, safe and sound. He was feeling better, but his body was holding on to some deep aches he suspected would take a long time to disappear. He was glad they had at least knocked him properly out before breaking his bones again.

The healer let them chat for a while, but then cleared his throat.

”I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to examine master Geralt. I'd prefer to do it in peace. I believe Lady Marlene has prepared a hearty breakfast and is waiting for you to bring forth its eminent destruction,” he said, smiling but stern.

Geralt watched everyone file out of the room, not coming up with anything he could have said to have Regis stay and get a few moments alone with him. They would need to reveal their relationship sooner rather than later, but he needed to talk to him about it first. Seeing Regis give him a smile and start to close the door was giving birth to a fierce ache in his chest.

”Master Regis, if you would stay and help me?” the healer called out suddenly. He heard Regis say something to Ciri before re-entering and closing the door. He was smiling wider, now.

”Yes, Harald? What can I do for you?” he asked, standing at the foot of the bed. The healer scoffed.

”Absolutely nothing, but I believe master Geralt has need of you as soon as I'm finished,” he said, clearly hiding a smile. Geralt opened his mouth and then closed it again, not able to come up with anything. Had Regis told Harald about them?

The healer made him sit up and then poked and prodded him for a few minutes, mumbling to himself. After that he confined Geralt to the bed and promised to send up a tray of breakfast. He gave Regis a tight smile, nodded to Geralt, and left the room.

Geralt could not tear his eyes away from Regis. The vampire looked like he had had a proper night's sleep and some food, because the deathly paleness had all but vanished. He climbed into the bed, coming to rest against Geralt's left side. A satisfied sigh escaped Geralt as he draped his arm around him and pulled him close.  _Much better_ , he mused as he buried his nose into Regis' hair. It smelled fresh and familiar, grounding him.

”You could have just stayed in the bed with me,” he whispered, smiling. He heard Regis give a laugh before he turned to look the witcher in the eye.

”I'm in the habit of not divulging personal information without permission. Call it doctor-patient confidentiality,” he answered smiling, but there was something sober behind the jest. Geralt kissed him, wondering how to broach the subject. Regis kissed him back, twining his fingers around his neck. It was sweet, a gesture of relief and comfort.

”Gods, but I had missed this,” he sighed when they parted, looking blissful.

”You're not the only one,” Geralt hummed. He felt suddely a lot braver. ”And I'm not going to hide this, if you don't wish to.”

Regis regarded him for a while, trying to read his face. He looked uncertain.

”I don't, but... Are you sure?” he asked. ”I wouldn't mind if you-” Geralt kissed him again, reveling in the feel of his lips moving against his. Regis didn't hurry to break the kiss, and he felt something warm bloom in his chest. He felt brave again.

”No way. You're not some dirty secret. We don't need to proclaim it in the streets, but I refuse to pretend in my own home, or around my family and friends,” he said when he finally pulled away.

Regis smiled, then. He looked so happy Geralt knew he had made the right call. He wasn't much for public displays of affection, but the people who mattered, his family, they needed to know what Regis meant to him, what he had done for him. He leaned to kiss Regis again, sliding his hand back into his hair.

The door flew open, revealing a laughing Ciri who was holding a breakfast tray.

”Geralt, I brought-” she began, but lost the rest of the sentence somewhere along the way. ”Oh,” was all she could think of, her eyes flickering between him and Regis.

Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he slowly pulled away from Regis. This did not go how he had planned. Regis had frozen in place where he was, sprawled on the bed next to him, his hands who knows where.

”It's exactly as it seems,” Geralt finally said, shrugging. ”We were going to tell you later, but seems like you spared us the trouble. Wasn't gonna keep it a secret anyway.” He kept his arm around Regis. He found he didn't feel as bothered by the interruption as he had initially feared. Really, this way was actually much easier.

Ciri's mouth opened and closed a few times. She blinked rapidly and then broke into a huge smile.

”I'm... I'm happy for you. Both of you,” she added, looking at Regis, who would have been blushing by now if it would have been physically possible. She set the tray on the bed, grinned at him and left. Geralt could hear her giggling when she closed the door and all but ran downstairs, and he knew Regis heard her too.

”Well, that's that taken care of,” he tried, before he succumbed to near-hysterical laughter. Regis looked at him like he had lost his senses, but couldn't help joining in soon after.

”You do realize she will tell everyone?” Regis chuckled after a moment. Geralt shrugged again.

”Counting on it. Makes my job that much easier.”

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! If we're lucky and the weekend's thunderstorms don't wreck our power lines, I will have the last chapter up by Sunday. I have also written a short piece that tells some of the stuff from Regis' point of view, and then there is the possibility of continuing the story.  
> (Edit: I went through all of the previous chapters and fixed fome typos and funky grammar. This whole fic is still unbeta-ed, and English is still very much not my first language. :D)


	7. Unfold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I don't even. I LIKE BIG FEELINGS AND I CANNOT LIE. Just take the porn and go.
> 
> I'm such a fucking sap, a complete friggin' sucker for happy endings. So sue me. Also, if anyone manages to spot a super fucking obscure allusion to one of this year's EuroVision songs, congrats. Greetings from your local eurotrash.

**I**

Geralt was disappointed (but not terribly surprised) to discover that Regis would not so much as make out with him while he was bedridden. He was bored out of his skull by the evening of the first day, but luckily everyone who was visiting kept him company. He played Gwent with Ciri, who apparently could not stop grinning widely every time her eyes met his or Regis'. Dandelion had naturally brought his lute with him, and they were treated to a private concert of his newest works. Yen and the healer, Harald, fussed about him, but they seemed happy enough with his recovery.

Geralt felt his body knit itself back together with the usual witcher speed now that he was provided with ample food and rest. Marlene seemed determined to make him gain back all the weight he had lost in the prison, in the course of a week. She even baked them an apple pie, which must have been the best dessert he had ever tasted. They all let her know how much they appreciated her cooking, and Geralt thought the woman might have cried a little.

But the best thing was having Regis with him and not having to hide anything. The vampire had been shy to show affection at first when other people were present, but when Geralt had asked him to sit next to him on the bed, he had gradually relaxed when no one had remarked on it. He remained there the rest of the day, alternating between reading and talking with them all, leaning on Geralt's side. The contact felt so good Geralt didn't bother to hide his contentment at all. He kept holding Regis close and was thankful for being able to do so. Geralt saw Yen glance at them a few times, but she did not look angry or disappointed, merely inquisitive.

The healer who had piqued Geralt's interest turned out to be a foreigner. When the rest of the group was downstairs eating, Geralt finally asked how a Skelligan might end up as a healer in the Nilfgaardian court of all places. The man looked at him for a while, but then he sighed and smiled.

”Ach, my accent has not vanished entirely, then,” he said.

”No, although it is not similar to the An Craite speech I've heard,” Geralt answered. Harald shrugged.

”That's because I'm no An Craite. My whole name is Harald an Tordarroch.”

Geralt remembered the recent events of Undvik very well. He had accompanied Hjalmar an Craite there to slay the ice giant. It had been a trip to remember. He had not agreed with Hjalmar on his methods, though. There had been too many lives lost on that particular crusade, and still there was no certainty when the exiled clan might be able to return to their home island. Ultimately that had been the point when Geralt had decided he would rather support Cerys' claim to the throne.

”I know your clan,” he only told Harald. ”I visited Undvik not too long ago.”

”There is nothing left, from what I've heard,” Harald said, looking sad. ”I've been following the tidings of my home isles closely, even though I have not been welcome there for nearly thirty years.”

”Why is that?” Geralt asked, although he was pretty certain he could guess the answer.

”When I was young, I didn't want to curb my ambition as a healer. The best university of the trade is in Nilfgaard,” Harald told him, looking somewhat reluctant to tell all this. ”I left when I was eighteen years old and have never returned. Crach an Craite made it very clear that anyone who is prepared to fraternize with Nilfgaardians is no longer a Skelligan. I don't regret following this path, but as a man grows older, he starts to miss things from his home soil.”

Geralt hummed, thinking. ”But Cerys an Craite is the queen of Skellige now,” he finally said. ”She's made peace with Emhyr. You could write to her, ask for an official pardon.”

Harald frowned, looking out of the window.

”You speak like you know her,” he said, sounding suspicious. Geralt shrugged, smiling a bit.

”I do know her. I helped her rise to the throne, truth be told. She is a good person, and not one to hold a grudge for things that don't really matter. I'm sure she will at least consider your case.” He got an idea and added: ”You could always sweeten the pot and offer yourself as a mentor for Skelligan healers, try to set up cooperation between the schools or something.”

Harald an Tordarroch looked at him for a long while, not uttering a word. Just as Geralt was starting to suspect he had offended the healer somehow by sticking his nose into this, Harald spoke, his voice very quiet.

”You are an extraordinary man, Geralt.” He shook his head, likely trying to push his thoughts into some working order. ”I confess I was doubtful as to your character upon my arrival here. I did not see what the Emperor himself could see in a simple witcher, beyond perhaps the fact that lady Cirilla holds you dear. I admit I was mistaken in my judgement,” he said, bowing his head. Geralt scratched his nose, feeling embarrassed.

”No worries. I just...try to do what's right. Usually end up in hell of a trouble for it,” he said, laughing a little. He was pleased to notice the action didn't hurt anymore.

***

Geralt woke up in the dark, his heart hammering in his chest. He shot up on the bed, stifling a shout. He was covered in cold sweat and for a few seconds he thought he was in the prison cell, drowning in unbreakable darkness. He tried not to hyperventilate and forced his pupils to adjust to the gloom by sheer force of will.

Slowly he realized he was in his own bed. The room was not pitch black; the curtains were open and moonlight was spilling onto the floorboards. He drew in deep breaths, but they were still too fast. He listened to his runaway heart, and only then realized Regis was awake and holding on to his hands to stop them from flailing.

”Look at me, love,” he said in a low voice. Geralt did as he was told, Regis' voice managing to penetrate the haze of the nightmare. ”When I squeeze your hands, breath in. Then hold it, and release when I loosen my grip,” he continued. The quiet authority in his voice made it possible for Geralt to follow. Regis squeezed his hands. His fingers felt warm.

Slowly but surely Regis brought him back from the crest of the terror, all the while talking to him and holding his gaze. The witcher couldn't tell what he was talking about, but he found himself clinging to Regis' voice. When he finally felt almost normal his shoulders slumped, as the tension receded. Shame crashed through him immediately, all hot and angry; he was a witcher, damn it all, and a simple nightmare managed to undo him that badly? Geralt averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks flush. He felt horrible.

”Come here,” Regis told him, laying back down and spreading his arms. Geralt shook his head.

”I'm fine. I should just...” he begun, but couldn't find the words. His throat felt raw and tight. His chest was aching after gasping for air. The broken ribs had made themselves known.

”Geralt. Please,” Regis whispered, stroking his back.

He could not resist the offered comfort. He crawled to Regis' waiting arms and felt his body go slack, as if it knew he was safe there. Regis held him close, stroking his hair and humming. They stayed like that for a long while. Geralt found himself listening to the soft sound, letting it ground him. Finally he managed to lift his gaze. Regis smiled at him and kissed his brow.

”That, my darling, is called a panic attack. It's a perfectly normal reaction to something you went through,” he said, continuing to pet his hair. Geralt scowled.

”Never happened to me before. My mutations should prevent those,” he muttered. ”I feel stupid.”

Regis sighed.

”You were locked up in a cell where you suffered hypothermia, beatings, starvation, and a complete lack of light. I was frankly wondering how long you would try to suppress the experience, but your unconscious mind appears to be a fair bit smarter,” he said, giving him a light kiss to take the bite off his words. His arms stayed around Geralt. After everything, it felt like this was the only way the witcher could let it go and feel safe for a while. Geralt realized he _had_ been burying things again, trying to drown his anxiety under easier feelings. It never worked, yet his mind seemed to resort to the unhealthy coping mechanisms every time he was pushed too far. He wondered whether it had ever happened to Lambert or Eskel. If it had, how had they managed?  


”Think of it as a wound that needs to heal. A mind is as suspectible to damage as the physical body, but it can be mended as well,” Regis continued after a moment of silence. Geralt thought about his words. Something sounded eerily familiar. Then it clicked.

”You talk like Hazair,” he blurted out. The realization should have felt weird, but it didn't. There were next to no similarities between the master witcher and Regis, yet they both spoke with the same knowledge of these things. Where the hell did it come from?

Regis smiled wider. ”I take that as a great praise. From what I gathered when you gifted me with your memories, the man was as wise as he was adept in the witcher trade.” Geralt smiled too, finally.

”I wonder where he is,” he murmured. Regis hummed.

”You can try to find that out later. But first, I would like you to take his advice.”

Geralt gathered his thoughts. Sleep would not come now, so it was all the same to get it over with. He suspected that this particular wound would need more tending than simply cleaning and stitching. The thought held no appeal, but he decided to trust Regis, and by extension, Hazair.

”Remember what you said about being close to death? About being robbed of the world and your senses?” he begun, the words coming haltingly. Regis made an affirmative sound.

”That's what it felt like. I couldn't tell the time or the place. The guard came and went so that it gave me no clues. There was only darkness and the cold, and the kicks whenever the guy brought me food.” Regis tightened his arms around him, and he realized he had tensed up. Talking about this was like dragging splintered wood out of a wound. He took a few breaths, letting the vampire's warmth seep into him, calm him. His pulse had been picking up, but it came down as he concentrated on the feeling of Regis' arms around him.

”After a while, I couldn't even really tell between being awake and unconscious. I kind of...slipped away. I tried to meditate, but it's hard when you get past a certain point of physical damage and have no fuel,” he continued, the words coming a bit easier now. It was not pleasant to relive the time in the dark, but he hoped he would feel better afterwards. At least he would not have to carry it all by himself.

”What did you think about, then?” Regis whispered. He had resumed stroking Geralt's hair, the movement easy and familiar. Every now and then he let his claws scratch Geralt's scalp. It felt good.

”You. Ciri. Hell, pretty much anyone I have ever met. I had nothing else, so I kind of went through my memories one by one. It hurt, thinking about all the stuff I lost, but it was the only thing I had. Well, besides feeling like I did do the right thing.” Geralt paused, thinking about it. He still felt like it.

”It's funny,” he continued uncertainly. ”I would do it all over again, even knowing what would happen. I don't even know Dettlaff, not really, but I trusted you when you said he wasn't entirely bad. There was no question about who's side I was on, in the end.”

Regis sighed, then. ”He is not bad. But I fear  _ he _ might think himself beyond forgiveness. He has shut me out completely. Usually I would be able to get a rough sense of his whereabouts and moods, but now there has been nothing since that unlucky evening.”

Gerlat tightened his grip on Regis and nuzzled his neck. ”I'm sorry. I don't know how that bond of yours feels, but I bet it's hard when it disappears.”

Regis nodded. ”It feels like a part of me has been ripped off. I cannot help being afraid,” he whispered. ”I've been burdened with more guilt than I can remember carrying in a long time. I couldn't find a way to help Dettlaff, but more importantly I was responsible for your fate. I will carry that with me for the rest of my days,” he said, his voice thick. Geralt twisted his head, looking Regis in the eye.

”Hey, quit that. I don't blame you,” he said, trying to reach Regis in his guilt. ”I meant what I said in Tesham Mutna. I did it because I felt like it was wrong to let Dettlaff suffer for _loving_ someone. I'm sick of royalty and nobility treating normal people and anyone who's different like they are expendable.” He drew in a breath and continued: ”Yeah, it sucks that he killed Syanna, but that's the one part I'm prepared to live with. Had it gone the other way around, I would be feeling way shittier. And if- No, _when_ Dettlaff comes back, I promise I will be civil.”

Regis was staring at him, hips mouth hanging open. Then he allowed a small smile take over. It was very soft around the edges.

”I take back my earlier words,” he breathed. Geralt lifted an eyebrow. ”Falling in love with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I must warn you though,” he said, the smile growing, ”That you will never be rid of me.”

  
  


**II**

Geralt was happy to be released from bed rest the following day. Unfortunately it meant Ciri and Yen would have to head back to Novigrad, where the Nilfgaardian administrative body had settled to steer the city into the time of peace.

”I'd love to stay,” Ciri complained, after she had trashed Geralt in Gwent for the sixteenth time that day. Geralt smiled, secretly wondering whether Emhyr had been teaching her game strategy. Maybe even chess, although he knew Ciri hated it. They all had gathered into the patio that overlooked the vineyard. It was nice and shady, the afternoon sun having just started to slip towards the western horizon.

”I know. You really can't?” he asked, knowing the answer already.

”Unfortunately, the crown princess has some rather pressing duties that await her,” Yen remarked from the reclining chair she had conquered. She had claimed she would need to catch up on some court correspondence, but in truth she had merely been amusing herself by debating Regis about something to do with the Conjuction's lingering effects on the elder races and mages. From what Geralt had listened, he could tell some sort of mutual respect had been found, even though both of them clearly thought the other wrong on the matter.

”Well, if we're leaving tomorrow morning, we might as well have a feast tonight,” said Dandelion, suddenly looking enthusiastic. Geralt grinned. ”You merely want to enjoy Marlene's cooking and abuse my wine cellar for one more night,” he laughed. Dandelion looked mortally offended.

”A man can have multiple priorities,” he scoffed, plucking a dignified _plonk_ from his lute.

”Why do you need to leave, anyway?” Geralt asked. Dandelion fingered his lute some more before deigning to answer.

”I have discovered a fruitful market for victory songs. It needs to be reaped before the war slips too far back in people's memories,” he explained. Geralt shook his head. He had an opinion about this particular business endeavor, but he decided the bard would not appreciate his take. He had a creeping suspicion Dandelion was just missing Priscilla. The thought made him happy for his friend.

”Well, why not. I'll go and ask Marlene to whip something up. B-B might dig up something special from the cellar, too,” he sighed, smiling as he got up. He was feeling fine, as long as he didn't try to run or jump. Harald an Tordarroch had declared him fit for leisure home life and nothing more for at least a month. He had informed Geralt's majordomo of this as well, clearly having caught on to the steward's sense of duty by now.

After he found out Marlene was absolutely delighted to prepare a finer meal for them all, Geralt was cornered by Yennefer in the cool and shady foyer. She reached to hug him when he exited the kitchen. The gesture surprised him, but in a good way. She felt delicate in his arms, but her hands were steady and strong around his neck. She still smelled on lilac and gooseberries.

”I'm happy you are going to be all right,” she said as she let him go. He violet eyes were soft as she smiled. ”And I do not mean only physically,” she added as her smile turned into a smirk. Geralt smiled back at her, at a loss for words. Yen, who knew him very well after all these years, could tell.

”I mean Regis, you idiot. I was surprised to meet him again, and even more so when he acted so protective of you. But I guessed how things stood long before Ciri burst into the dining room looking like she had just disposed of a basilisk all by herself.” Yen laughed a bit, shaking her head. ”You should see the way he looks at you when you don't notice.”

Geralt felt a bit embarrassed, but mostly he concentrated on the happiness that was taking root inside of him. ”I...” he began, scratching his head. ”It means a lot. To hear you say that,” he finally managed. Yen smiled, but then she turned serious.

”Geralt, I know our relationship had its ups and downs, and that we are both to blame for the bad things, but...” she trailed off, biting her lip. She looked him straight in the eyes, then. ”Are you honest with him?” she asked, quietly. ”I'm not saying you lied to me, but I always _knew_ there were some parts you did not share with me. Are you doing that again?” she finished, looking almost like she already regretted asking.

Geralt shook his head. He reached over and took her hand.

”No. He knows everything there is to know about me,” was all he could say. He saw Yen smile, her eyes looking less haunted.

”That's good. That's... Very good,” she whispered. ”I let you go long ago, but I always wondered whether you'd ever open up to anyone. I'm glad you did.” She kissed him on the cheek before returning outside.

Geralt stayed back, leaning on the wall with his hands in his pockets, thinking. He had always known he could not fool Yen. He still felt bad for trying, even though he knew there was nothing he could have done differently. It was not meant to be that way, and they were very lucky they had got out without wanting to rip each other to pieces. Geralt had done his best to mend what he had broken when they were searching for Ciri together, and apparently he had succeeded.

Thinking back, the whole quest to defeat the Wild Hunt had forced him to make amends and rebuild many bridges. Saving Letho and allying with him in Kaer Morhen was one example; it had left Geralt feeling good, like finishing a last chapter in a very long book. He was also surprised to discover he actually mourned Dijkstra, the bastard, even after all he had done. They had shared a mutual distrust, but also grudging respect. Geralt had felt no hesitation when he had killed the man, but now he found himself missing his biting wit.

It was still better than the alternative. Roche had been by his side far longer, and he had answered to his call for help in Kaer Morhen. Geralt had always seen the way he looked at Ves, and he hoped they could find some time to explore that, now that they had achieved their goal and begun rebuilding Temeria. He would need to reach out for them, see how they were doing.

He was interrupted by a higher vampire who had managed to sneak up on him.

”You're deep in thought,” Regis said, wrapping his arms around him and leaning carefully against his chest. Geralt shrugged.

”Just thinking about... Well, everything, really,” he mumbled, pulling Regis closer. The vampire leaned on him with his full weight, resting his brow against his and closing his eyes.

”Tell me?” he asked.

”Some other time,” Geralt answered before kissing him. It was sweet and light, both simply enjoying the proximity and intimacy. Geralt slid his hands into Regis' hair. He couldn't get enough of the feeling.

”As much as I hate to see them go, we will finally have some privacy,” he said, trying not to grin. Regis rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed his true feelings. It was quickly slipping towards something darker, and Geralt felt a chill run down his spine.

Regis pressed still closer to him, whispering in his ear: ”I intend to make good on every promise I have made you.” His breath ghosted over Geralt's skin. Geralt shivered, but before he could pull his brain together to answer, Regis had drawn back. The vampire winked at him and retuned outside.

***

When they sat down for dinner, Geralt could tell Marlene had pulled out all the stops. The table they had set up on the patio was creaking under the strain. Yen had done some of her magic and charmed small orbs of lights to drift around the table, illuminating them in a soft, warm glow. The evening was warm and tranquil, some lonely clouds drifting through the darkening sky. Toussaint's climate was always temperate, but this spring had been mellow even by local standards.

As they ate, drank, and exchanged stories, Geralt felt a new sense of calm slowly descend over him. He knew life would go on, and for once it was okay.

Ciri would go back to the court with Yen, learn everything Emhyr had to teach, and eventually succeed him to the throne. Dandelion would go back to Priscilla (of whom he could not stop talking about, it seemed) and maybe they would really settle down. Yen would continue her work at the court, where she was rebuilding the trust between the people in power and the mages and nonhumans around the realm. Geralt could do nothing but support them in his own ways. He was not responsible for their happiness anymore than he was responsible for anyone else's.

Having spent so many years feeling like the fate of the world was crushing him, this new sense of certainty left him thoughtful. It had something to do with getting Regis back, maybe simply because he could trust he wouldn't need to manage on his own anymore. Trusting that someone had his back felt dangerous, and his darker instincts were still trying to whisper to him. The witcher training had emphasized the need to survive on his own, and the experiences that had accumulated did nothing to ease that. And still Regis had managed to breach through that wall with ease and grace. Regis had accepted all of him with no hesitation, prompting in Geralt the need to do the same.

Geralt was taken aback when he realized he had been going into this relationship with every intention to make it last forever. There hadn't been any other option after they had met again, it was either having everything Regis offered or nothing at all. There was a warm feeling that had taken root without him noticing, growing so strong it would be impossible to get out anymore. His relationship with Regis had subtly become the most vital thing in his life, just like it could have been years ago, had things gone differently.

After they had destroyed the last remains of the desserts and broken out the vintage brandy B-B had fished out from the cellar, Geralt sat down on the banister, content to look at Dandelion performing some of his old, obscene classics and listen to Ciri and even Yen trying to sing along.

Regis appeared at his side, sitting down next to him and cradling a tumbler of brandy. He smelled of the spirit, along with his usual herbal scent. The aromas complimented each other nicely, Geralt thought. He distantly wondered whether Regis preferred this to his own mandrake concoctions.

”You look deep in thought,” the vampire observed once again, smiling. Geralt pulled him closer, enjoying the simple act and the fact that he could do it without a single worry. Regis didn't resist.

”Yeah. But I'm happy,” Geralt answered, looking at Ciri. She broke down laughing when she tried and failed to hit the high notes, Yen and Dandelion urging her on. Regis watched her too, smiling.

”I can feel that.”

”It's funny, I know stuff will continue to happen and go wrong, and I still feel like it's going to be all right,” Geralt murmured, planting a kiss on Regis' temple. He could see Regis glance at him on the corner of his eye.

”I have been trying to ease that burden from your shoulders ever since I met you,” he whispered, just as Yen and Ciri both collapsed laughing, not even trying to keep up with Dandelion who had moved on to some other raunchy bit already. The bard looked like he was enjoying himself immensely.

Geralt nodded, not finding the vampire's confession very surprising.

”I know. I'm just kinda slow,” he chuckled. When he turned his head he saw Regis was smiling, his eyes full of warm happiness, looking so achingly familiar and dear. Geralt pulled him flush to him and kissed him there, not caring that everyone could see. He felt Regis laugh into the kiss, his body relaxed and pliant in his arms.

***

When everyone finally retired for the night, it was well past midnight. Geralt felt something hot crawling under his skin when he closed the door to his bedroom. The whole evening had passed with him acutely aware of his lover, itching to be as close as possible. He turned around to see Regis standing by the bed, looking back at him with dark eyes. He stalked towards the vampire, seeing him narrow his eyes. The window was open, and cool air was wafting through it every now and then.

When Geralt reached Regis, he found him burning up. Regis' hands sneaked their way around his waist, solid and unyielding. Geralt searched for his lips in the dimness, finding them waiting for him, ready and parted. The kiss was slow, and finally they had all the time in the world. Regis mapped his mouth with slow thoroughness, long-clawed hands slowly stroking his back.

When they finally parted, Geralt sighed, happy and relaxed.

”I have so many things I wish to do to you,” Regis purred, pressing more kisses along his jawline. ”I want to take care of you in every way you will let me.”

Geralt halted at that. He had been feeling cared for all these days. Regis had been there for him all the time. He wanted to pay him back, or try to start to, anyway.

”Then let me take care of you?” he murmured, lips caressing Regis'. Regis looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

”You've been doing all the work. It's my turn,” he continued, guiding the vampire towards the bed gently. Regis licked his lips, allowing Geralt to push him down on the mattress. He started to strip away the simple clothes the vampire had taken to wearing around the house, a dark, embroidered vest on top of a white linen shirt and dark breeches. As he revealed bits of skin, he dropped small kisses along the way and enjoyed Regis' breath quickening. Still, the vampire was content simply laying there, accepting the attention and care.

Neither of them spoke. There was no rush now, so Geralt took his sweet time, not even trying to tease; he simply let himself sink into the moment, caressing Regis until his lover was naked on the bed beneath him, looking back at him with heat written on his face.

Geralt stood up and stripped off his own clothes. He could feel Regis' eyes on his skin. Geralt knew he was hard, but not in the urgent and aching way. His body was simply yearning for more contact with his lover. Regis smiled when he slipped back onto the bed, straddling him and leaning down to kiss him again. The feeling of having their bodies flush together and Regis' erection rubbing against his woke a lazy, creeping hunger inside him. He wanted to be filled and know with absolute certainty they were both safe.

Geralt broke the kiss but did not withdraw.

”You have any more of that oil?” he asked, watching Regis bite his lip as his hands twitched.

”I stored a bottle here,” he answered, looking almost coy. ”The topmost drawer of the nightstand.” Geralt grinned as he reached over and fumbled around in the dark, locating a round bottle with a wide mouth and a black cork. Regis' hands had come to rest on his hips, the thumbs stroking the curve of his hipbones.

”You get to watch, this time,” Geralt grinned, uncorking the bottle and puring some of the oil over his right hand's fingers. It smelled pleasant, he thought vacantly as he reached for his behind. Regis was watching him, his eyes very dark. He drew in a breath as Geralt breached himself and let out a low moan. It had been so long since he had done this for himself. But by gods did it feel good, he thought, as he moved his finger in and out, taking his time. He dipped his left hand's fingers deftly into the bottle before depositing it back on the nightstand and started to stroke Regis slowly, all the while looking into his eyes.

Regis hissed as Geralt's hand started on him, his teeth almost breaking his skin where he was biting down on his bottom lip. He had let his hands come back to rest on Geralt's hips and his blunted nails were digging down there.

”You're enjoying that,” the vampire whispered with a breathy smile. ”You love to be filled, more than anything else.” Geralt felt the breath go out of him as he slipped in a third finger, biting back a moan. There was no use denying what Regis was saying, as his cock was dripping in front of him, without either of them having so much as touched it. He crooked his fingers, twisting them, and when he hit that special spot he saw stars.

”Yeah,” he managed. ”I really do.” Regis grinned, letting his hands roam over Geralt's ass.

”I will do my best to provide, then,” he answered, his tones sultry. He let his nails bite into his skin again, drawing a whimper from his lover. ”I love watching you, hungry for me, stretching yourself open for me, almost undone already. It makes me want to take you; forcing you to move so slow you end up begging for more, that beautiful cock of yours straining against the pleasure.”

Geralt's mind caved in. There was only Regis' voice floating through his head, seeping into his core and leaving him breathless and helpless. He let his fingers slip out, the emptiness begging to be filled again. Looking into Regis' eyes, he searched for words.

”Can I?” he finally whispered, drawing a blank. Regis nodded, his hands gripping Geralt's hips so hard the witcher knew he was going to have a set of finger-shaped bruises there. The thought felt welcome, he wanted to be marked. He wanted to remember Regis taking him every time he looked at himself.

Geralt rose to his knees, taking hold of Regis' erection and guiding it to his entrance. Feeling him there, at the edge of pleasure, made the time stand still. Neither of them moved, their eyes locked together. Then Geralt sank down, biting down on his left fist to prevent himself from moaning aloud, aware of having visitors in the next room. Regis threw his head back, hissing through his teeth. They stopped there, Regis completely sheathed inside Geralt.

Geralt's body was cataloguing every minute sensation with razor-sharp focus that made the observations flit through his mind, being gone the next moment. Regis was just big enough to stretch him, and curved enough to feel amazing like this, even when neither of them moved. His claws had sunk into Geralt's skin, on the verge of breaching it. Geralt's cock gave a tiny twitch when Regis swallowed and licked his lips.

”Move for me, love. Touch yourself and move, let yourself go,” Regis whispered, moving his hands to Geralt's ass, clearly intent of leaving a second string of bruises there. Geralt grasped his cock, still not daring to move his other hand away from his mouth. He saw Regis watching him intently, him eyes drawn back to his face time and again.

Then Regis started to guide him with his hands, moving him up and down with agonizingly slow pace. He could feel every inch of Regis where he moved inside of him, not hurrying at all. Geralt let his thighs do the work for them, riding Regis in smooth movements. His back was slick with sweat, and the cool air coming in from the window felt amazing. Every time Regis let his claws sink into his flesh the pain flashed through his whole body, making him let out small noises of pleasure and trying to stifle them. He saw Regis smile, knowing exactly what he was doing to him. It felt almost too good, the combination of pain and pleasure had always been his undoing in bed.

Suddenly Regis clawed a long line, scratching along his hips and thighs in one long pull just as he pushed harder into Geralt. Geralt bit down on the back of his hand to stifle the cry that almost burst free, a little bit too hard. There was a faint taste of blood in his mouth, and he froze. He saw Regis' eyes widen when he smelled it. For a few seconds, neither of them moved.

Then Regis drew in a deep breath, clearly letting himself savour the scent. His eyes had turned black when he looked at Geralt again.

”I will take everything you offer, even this,” he whispered hoarsely before resuming the movement with more force. Geralt let Regis set the pace, a little more urgent than he had been a moment ago. Geralt stroked himself, letting his other hand fall away from his mouth and grip Regis around his bicep.

Regis filled him completely, thrusting in deep every time he pulled Geralt down. It was almost too good, Geralt thought, to have him there, erasing the hollow echoes from inside of him. He would give up pretty much anything in the world, if only he got to keep Regis this time.

”Gods, Regis,” he panted. ”I love you, I'm so close.” Regis gave a breathy laughter.

”You feel perfect, I love how I fit inside of you,” he answered, clearly by now knowing what his dark words were doing to Geralt. ”I want to do this every day. I want to fill you so completely you will never lack for anything.”

Geralt surged to kiss him, only remembering he had bitten himself and drawn blood when Regis eyes went impossibly wide. He knew Regis could taste the metal on his tongue, and for a second he felt fear grip him.

Then Regis' tongue invaded his mouth, chasing the last coppery tang as he increased the tempo. The kiss was possessive and hard, but there was nothing unfamiliar or precarious about it. Geralt let himself be swept away with it, somehow knowing Regis would know where to stop. When the vampire finally pulled back, his eyes were wondering and a little wild.

”I will have this, but not more. Although I suspect you would give me everything, if I asked,” he murmured, his voice breaking on the last syllable, a tell-tale sign he was getting close. Geralt felt himself stiffen where he was touching himself. Seeing Regis lose himself was nothing short of amazing.

”Yes,” he answered, knowing he had no other answer to offer. He would give everything. He had already. ”I would. I do.”

The thought sent him over. He came, spurting on Regis' chest, feeling himself clench down on Regis' cock. Regis' eyes forced themselves shut as his back arched. He gave a muffled cry as Geralt felt him come.

Geralt felt his muscles slacken and he realized he was exhausted, as he collapsed down from his position. Regis drew him close immediately, rolling them over so that they were both lying on their side and facing each other. Geralt could feel his thighs twitching with the strain, and he wondered whether he had overdone it a bit. Not that he minded. Getting to be close and intimate with Regis after everything was better than any medicine.

Geralt had felt a creeping worry about the whole blood blunder, but as Regis held him close with no traces of anger or hurt, his heart started to settle. He allowed himself a moment to bask in the glow of the sex, knowing he would not be thrown out for his mistake. That was a new thing, too. He wanted to talk about it, but didn't feel any of the familiar creeping apprehension that usually preceded intimate topics.

”I'm sorry,” he finally mumbled when his breathing settled back to normal. ”About the blood. I-”

Regis kissed him, allowing his tongue to slip inside Geralt's mouth once again. It was a lazy kiss, full off comfort and caring. Geralt felt his lips tingle when Regis drew back.

”Don't worry. I was merely taken by surprise,” Regis smiled. He looked relaxed and happy. ”I admit it gave the act a new edge I could not anticipate, but it was by no means unpleasant.” When he continued, he sounded wondering, as if not daring to believe himself: ”I felt no need to bite you. I was just enjoying the taste on your lips, there was none of the frenzy I remember associating with blood.”

Geralt felt himself relax at that. He knew Regis would never lie to him about this.

”Would you want to...” he began, not sure how to word his request. He swallowed when he saw Regis look at him intently. ”I wouldn't mind giving my blood, but only if you want it. I know it would help you heal,” he continued, suddenly feeling almost shy. This was unknown terrain for both of them.

Regis gave him another lazy kiss, stroking his hands into the tangle of white hair.

”I was just talking a moment ago, but you really would give me everything,” he said, his lips moving against Geralt's. ”I cannot give you an answer. Not yet. I need to examine this, be extremely careful. But-” he continued, his eyes dropping to Geralt's neck. ”The mere thought of taking even a taste of your blood is beyond tempting.”

”You can do it, if you feel like you can keep it under control. I want to make you happy,” Geralt smiled, feeling good about Regis not refusing him outright but also for his restraint. It alleviated the worries of him causing Regis harm by his offer.

Regis sighed and laughed.

”You already do. You hold my heart, and you take good care of it.”

The words tugged at something in Geralt's memory. It was a dark tendril, worn so thin he couldn't immediately tell whether he had merely dreamed it. He frowned, chasing the thread. Regis noticed his expression but didn't interrupt, only looked at him in question.

Geralt closed his eyes, trying to recall the images. He remembered the cold, the fever that had ravaged his body. There had been darkness, unyielding darkness, until-

”Orianna,” he gasped, opening his eyes. Regis' eyes widened.

”What about her?” he asked, his tone worried. Seemingly by instinct, he tightened his grip around Geralt.

”She... She came to visit me. When I was in prison,” Geralt mumbled, the feverish images returning. He raked his brain, trying to distinguish between hallucinations and reality. ”She used those exact words, she said I held your heart. Didn't sound too happy about it.”

Regis closed his eyes and sighed. He looked conflicted and annoyed.

”She does not approve of my choices. It is not the first time,” he said when he finally opened his eyes. Geralt frowned.

”She said something about not liking me, even though she knew I saved Dettlaff. She seems to think you're somehow... I don't know, debasing yourself by choosing to be with me,” Geralt continued, already feeling bad about bringing this up right after the spectacular sex. Regis scoffed.

”Orianna thinks us vampires as the superior race. She holds very little regard to any humans she chooses to interact with. In her mind, my relationship with you is a vile transgression,” he told Geralt, not hiding what he clearly thought of her opinions. ”It is precisely the reason I choose to avoid her as much as I do.”

”Is Orianna somehow superior to you or Dettlaff?” Geralt asked, another memory cropping up. He recalled Orianna's irritation when Dettlaff had ignored her threaths and showed acceptance for Geralt.

”She likes to think she is. Many higher vampires look up to her, since she is extremely old and powerful even amongst her peers. But no, she has no official status as a leader. Our culture does not believe in such things. Dettlaff is a good example of that, you saw how he acted around her,” Regis answered, looking satisfied Geralt had noticed this.

”She dislikes me immensely, because I have never recognized her self-assumed status. Thus, she has always felt a need to express an opinion about my choices, be it me not indulging in blood, or choosing pack mat-” Suddenly Regis stuttered to a stop, going very still. Geralt knew at once the vampire had said more than he had meant to. 

”Your pack mates?” he asked, as a fragile warmth started to spread inside his chest. He didn't dare to hope, not yet, but...

Regis would not meet his eye. ”It doesn't matter,” he mumbled, biting his lip. He looked like he was both ashamed and scared. Geralt took hold of Regis' chin, turning him to face him properly. The vampire let him do it, as he always did, but did not meet his gaze.

”I've spent the entire evening thinking about how I got into this relationship,” Geralt whispered, trying to suppress the wide smile that threatened to take over his face. Regis finally looked at him uncertainly. ”I thought it was funny, because apparently I had decided to be in it for the long haul immediately after you told me you still wanted me,” he continued, seeing the worry ease up a bit from Regis' face. Not entirely, though.

”We are not in a hurry-” Regis began, still looking at him like he honestly expected Geralt to bolt after hearing he considered him a part of his pack. Geralt shook his head.

”I know. But you need to know I don't mind. Hell, I like the idea of being a part of your pack. It's like I...belong somewhere,” Geralt finished, feeling almost embarrassed. It sounded childish to his own ears, finally admitting he yearned for that sense of home and companionship, but he had promised he would be frank with Regis. The vampire was watching him intently, his eyes having gone very soft.

”You truly mean that,” he whispered.

”Yeah,” Geralt answered. Regis swallowed.  


"Then... There is one more thing I have not told you yet," he mumbled, his hand twitching nervously where it was buried into Geralt's hair. Geralt looked at him, waiting, giving Regis time to gather his thoughts.

"I have considered you as a pack member for much longer than you think," he began, his voice catching. "These bonds, there are no rituals to be performed or magic to be done. They are simply choices one makes, and which then affect us through our physiology. The fact that I am able to tell you are of my pack only confirms my earlier theory about the witcher mutations containing some mutagens derived from vampires."

Geralt shrugged, not feeling like this was anything terribly shocking. No one knew anymore what the hell had been among the original Trial mutations, and he had received several experimental ones, too. He had spent so many years being angry about getting to be the freak even among other witchers. He had also let go of that anger long ago.

"So? As I said, I don't mind," he said and smiled. Regis shook his head.

"I'm not finished. There is no easy way to say this, so I will be blunt and hope you'll forgive me. You have become my mate. I cannot tell you how it came to be, but I know it's true. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, I was-"

"Scared? Regis, please, don't be," Geralt interrupted, as suddenly things started to make more sense. Could it be that there was something physical that had been changing after they had met again? It would explain why he just somehow _knew_ Regis would never harm him or betray his trust. There was also something almost visceral about the trust and love he could not recall experiencing before.

"Mating bonds are shrouded in mystery even among higher vampires, as it's considered a taboo to talk about them to outsiders. It's an extremely private thing in our culture, and I think that's why I... Didn't know, until now," Regis continued. He looked sad, and suddenly Geralt knew what he was worried about.

"I want to be your mate," he whispered. "Didn't you hear what I just said? I'm not going anywhere."

Regis was looking like he didn't dare to believe his ears. Geralt kissed him, trying to convey his feelings on the matter. He didn't mind. Anything but, if he was honest. He liked the idea there was something concrete tying them together.

When Regis finally pulled back, he was still looking astonished.

"Every time I think I have you figured out, you surprise me yet again," he said, his voice breathy. Geralt chuckled. Then Regis kissed him again, igniting an altogether new fire inside him. It felt like commitment, but not of the sort that weighed you down and caused worries. It was something that carried you through the hard times, something to hold on to until your last breath. Geralt kissed him back, trying to gauge the depth of the feeling, but his feet did not meet the bottom.

When they finally pulled apart, Regis was looking at him like he was seeing him for the first time.

”How do you want me to say this?” he whispered, his hands cupping Geralt's face and clearly not expecting an answer. ”You hold my heart. You are a part of my pack. I would walk with you from now on, if you'd have me.”

Geralt swallowed against a lump in his throat. He felt like he was overflowing.

”Walk with me, then,” he told Regis, not really knowing what he was supposed to answer. He just needed to say this. ”Stay with me, make home with me, wherever we end up going.”

”That I can and will do,” Regis smiled, before pulling Geralt back against him, kissing all the remaining breath out of him.

  
  


**III**

Seeing Ciri, Yen, and Dandelion go made Geralt ache. He was already missing all of them. Ciri had assured him he was always welcome to Novigrad and even to the court, should he and Regis visit the city. The thought did hold some appeal, but Geralt was sure they would rather opt for staying in the Chameleon.

He hugged Yen and then watched as she opened a portal, taking first Harald an Tordarroch and then Dandelion through it. The bard winked at him before stepping into the howling light. They were gone the next second. Ciri, who could travel by herself, reached her hands around Geralt, hugging him tightly.

”I will miss you. I'm glad you're getting better, but please don't scare me like that ever again,” she huffed before letting him go. Geralt smiled. She had so much fire in her, she would do well in the court, no matter how much she still had to learn.

Ciri turned to Regis, who was standing next to Geralt, smiling widely at her words. She surprised the vampire by hugging him tightly as well. Regis blinked a few times before bringing his arms around Ciri.

”Take care of each other,” Ciri told him when she let him go. ”You make him happy,” she added, grinning at Regis who looked momentarily taken aback before laughing.

”He makes me happy. I will keep an eye on him. Safe travels, Cirilla. I do hope we'll see each other again soon,” he said, bowing his head. Ciri smiled at both of them, and then there was a blink of light, and she was gone.

They stayed there for a long while, looking over the vineyard and the valley. Regis twined his fingers through Geralt's, holding his hand while the witcher gathered his drifting thoughts.

He had ridden to Toussaint thinking he would find a new purpose here. He had been set on returning to the Path, taking contracts, and going along his lonely road. He could still go, he mused as he held onto Regis' cool hand and watched the clouds glide over the red morning sky, promising rain and thunder later that day. But he wouldn't have to go alone.

He knew Regis would accompany him, he didn't even have to ask. And they would allways have Corvo Bianco to come back to. The thought of having an actual home had a strange appeal, but Geralt knew himself too well to hope he could settle down completely. He needed to walk the Path, see the world. He was ready to bet Regis was equally restless in his core, and would not object to setting out in the future.

They ended up spending the day on the patio. Regis had discovered the library of the vineyard and had delved into a heavy tome depicting the local poisonous plants in great detail. He muttered to himself as he worked, occasionally using words in some language Geralt could not understand, and making several notes in his small notebook.

Geralt worked through the rehabilitation regime Regis and Harald had designed for him. It tired his body sufficiently, but didn't make him wish for an early death. After he had completed everything and Regis was starting to glare at him for over-exerting his healing body, Geralt simply lied down on the reclining chair, leafing through some books he had found of interest. At some point, he dozed off, his mind giving in to the sleep when he knew Regis was watching over him. His last conscious thought was that he could still see his own teeth marks from previous night on the back of his hand.

***

Geralt woke when he heard thunder crack in the distance. He opened his eyes, realizing he must have been asleep for several hours. The sky was ominously dark, the air stagnant and humid. Oppressive stillness that preceded a true Toussaint thunderstorm had settled over the vineyard. The soft spring was finally yielding to a true summer, which would bring more storms and stifling heat with it.

Geralt got to his feet, noticing Regis was leaning on the banister and observing the weather. In the distance, Geralt could see the first flashes of light in the midst of the black clouds. Some of the vineyard staff could be seen running towards shelter, keen on getting out of the storm's way. There was another distant rumble, and the air seemed to be crackling. Geralt could smell the electricity and feel it making its way towards the breaking point. He felt rested and expectant, the raw energy of the storm humming through him.

The witcher crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around Regis, hugging him from behind. He pressed a kiss to the vampires jaw and was rewarded with a satisfied sigh. It was the only sound that broke the silence.

They stayed like that, Geralt resting his head against Regis'. The storm creeped closer and the air was full of the smells around them. The flowering garden, the vines' flowers and their pollen, and then Regis, right there. He smelled of the thunder and upcoming rain, Geralt thought, letting himself be grounded once again by his unflinching presence. They saw the horizon blur.

Then, finally, the rain began. It was hesitant at first, but soon a lightning flashed right overhead and was followed a thunderclap that left Geralt's ears ringing. The clouds gave up reigning in the storm, and instantly everything within sight was engulfed in it.

Wind howled through the vineyard, bringing the torrent with it. The patio's roof did nothing to shelter Geralt and Regis; as the first wave of rainwater hit them, Geralt only grinned and held Regis in place. He heard Regis laugh, tipping his head back and letting the rain spatter him, soaking through them in seconds.

Geralt leaned to drop kisses on his throat, nibbling on his earlobe. The vampire tilted his head to the side for better access, his left hand gripping Geralt's hair. The storm was crashing down around them, everything around them muted and disappearing into the pouring curtains of rain. Geralt moved lower, pushing Regis' shirt out of the way, and then licking his way back up. He was growing hard and pushing his front against Regis' backside.

Finally, when Regis clearly couldn't take any more of his teasing, he twisted around and kissed Geralt, all teeth and tongue. Geralt lifted him up to sit down on the balustrade, coming to stand between his spread thighs. He ground down, experimentally. He heard Regis bite back a curse, clearly hard and aching under his wet clothes.

Geralt repeated the movement, enjoying the wet friction of them brushing together through two layers of soaked clothing. He slipped his hands under Regis' shirt, savoring the heat against his palms as the wind brought even more rain to drown out everything else and the thunder kept roaring. He brought his hands to Regis' hips, pulling him flush against his chest. Regis' hips gave an involuntary twitch and he let out a breathy growl.

They barely made it to the bedroom before clothing started to come off. Regis slid his hands under Geralt's shirt, kissing his way to his nipples before biting down on one. Geralt let out a groan, only distantly worrying about the staff hearing them. Maybe the waning storm would drown out the noise.

Regis paused at the sound, looking contemplative for a moment. Then a mischievous grin spread on his ageless face. He turned over, moving his right hand in a complex little gesture while mumbling a few words in a foreign language. When he turned to face Geralt again, his eyes were hungry and full of the heat he seemed to emit at all times.

”What was that?” Geralt asked as Regis continued divesting the witcher of his clothes.

”A ward,” Regis answered before kneeling down, pushing his trousers down with one fluid motion. Geralt's cock sprang free and Regis caressed it with his lips. Geralt felt his brain short-circuit.

”A ward?” he panted, his hands winding their way into the stubborn curls that were dripping with rainwater. He saw Regis grin wider.

”To guarantee us some privacy,” he said, before biting down on Geralt's hip, hard. Geralt felt his cock jump, the pain hitting like a new thunderclap. He let out a breathy moan, tightening his grip in Regis' hair. The vampire was looking satisfied, he observed when his muddled brain came back to the present moment.

”Just so,” he whispered, and then he swallowed Geralt's cock whole.

Bloody hell, Geralt thought, trying to hang onto the last dregs of his  sanity _ and _ stand his ground without falling over.  Regis was phenomenal in giving head. Maybe it was because he was a quick study of his lover's body, or maybe one did pick up a thing or two in four hundred years. It didn't really matter. He worked the witcher's cock deftly, letting his fangs nick it every now and then just enough that the sting kept Geralt on edge.

Then Regis sank his claws into Geralt's back and swiped ten a red hot lines down it. Geralt cried out, his back arching and at the same time Regis took him even deeper and swallowed around him.

Geralt felt something give. His knees buckled, he was rushing towards an orgasm, and then-

Regis pulled back, catching him just as his knees gave out. With one strong movement he threw Geralt on the bed, the witcher's legs tangled in his pants which were still pooled around his ankles. Geralt gasped as he hit the mattress, his whole body alight with adrenaline. Regis was kneeling over him instantly, having apparently misted his way out of his own clothes.

Geralt was trying to catch his breath, his focus narrowing down to a few choice bits of the world around him; his cock, throbbing almost painfully, still slick with spit; Regis' mouth, the lips looking swollen; the sting on his back; the feeling of damp skin and the heat making the last of the rain evaporate.

Regis straddled him, pinning his arms above his head.

”You need to let me hear you,” he growled, the words again going straight to Geralt's dick. ”I will not let you come until I know you need it enough.” Regis reached over the side of the bed and dug out his belt from the pile of clothing. With dexterous hands he tied Geralt's hands to the bedpost.

”Now, I know you could break free instantly,” he purred when he was satisfied with his handiwork. ”But if you do, you will be left high and dry, without permission to touch yourself.” Geralt gave a moan as the words hit home; Hazair had used them on him when they had first had sex. They burned on their way to his brain, still having the same effect as when he had been young and new to this.

Regis saw Geralt recall the words, his grin turning a touch darker. He retrieved the oil from the bedside, pouring a generous amount on his right hand. He set out to tease Geralt open, one finger at a time, hitting him where the touch made him want to cry out. Geralt tried to keep his mouth shut, just to see what would happen.

Regis saw him struggle to maintain his silence, and the next thing Geralt knew was five sharp claws sinking into his thigh, again letting Regis draw the mark of his lust on his lover's body. When the claws hit the sensitive inner thigh, Geralt gave up and let out a shout, his whole body tensing up.

It was almost too much. Not enough to make him consider using the words, but enough to blind him to everything else. The pain was intense, hot, and absolutely necessary. He felt its fire crawl along his body everywhere where Regis had marked him. It was driving him crazy, he wanted to rip his hands free and get Regis to touch him properly.

Regis stretched him open agonisingly slowly, all the while favoring him with lazy kisses and occasionally claws. The more he opened him, the more vocal the witcher got. It seemed to please Regis immensely, to be able to draw all manner of filthy sounds from him. The vampire worked him towards orgasm, then backed away enough that he would not come, all the while drinking in the sights and sounds.

When he finally, finally let his slick fingers slip free from Geralt's ass, the witcher let out a sob of pure desperation. He was riding a wave of pain and pleasure where the two had become indistinguishable. He had experienced this once or twice before. It had always been mind-blowing, almost scary.

Regis pushed into him carefully, still taking the time to see he was doing well. Geralt sobbed again as he felt him slide inside him. Regis hooked his left leg over his shoulder and started a brisk pace, smiling down at him.

”You look so good,” he murmured, thrusting into him harder, causing his back to arch, offering better access. Geralt could feel the edge rushing at him, he was so close, and again Regis halted. He stilled, watching his face intently. The feeling of his cock throbbing inside Geralt was almost enough to make him come. Regis released his leg and leaned down to kiss him. Geralt felt like he was on fire. Every single nerve was alive and overworking itself.

Regis kissed him hard, the possessive feeling present again. He had not bothered to hide his fangs, and feeling them was just another good thing in Geralt's mind. There was so much danger coiled inside Regis, and yet he chose to use it only to please his lover.

And then suddenly Regis bit down on Geralt's lip, and this time he did it hard enough to shed a small drop of blood. Geralt felt Regis shudder violently as the coppery tang spread into his mouth. Regis' eyes flared black and he seemed to grow bigger inside Geralt.

The vampire took hold of Geralt's cock, stroking it as he pounded into him without mercy. Geralt lost it, thrusting back as his cock pulsed and he came all over himself. It went on and on, blinding him to everything else.

He was distantly aware of Regis collapsing on top of him, slick with sweat and murmuring adorations.

It was a long while of trying to catch his breath and hunting the remains of his brain before Geralt managed to open his eyes again. His body felt pliant and spent. Regis was cradling him, looking at him with a crooked smile playing on his lips.

”I seem to have exhausted my repertoire for words to describe you with,” he finally said, giving him an exhausted kiss.

”I love you too,” Geralt laughed. He was distantly aware of his body, all the wonderful aches and pains he associated with sex and Regis. There was bone-deep relaxation, too. He was pleased to discover he didn't feel the least bit alarmed about Regis having bitten him.

”How was the blood?” he asked. Now that he could form whole sentences again he was getting curious. Regis licked his lips, looking contemplative.

”You taste better than I ever dared to hope. There are no words in Common to describe the feeling,” he finally admitted, looking shy. ”But you needn't worry. I didn't feel any urge to overdo it. I suspect it might have something to do with the fact that you are my... Well, my _mate_. I wouldn't dare do it with anyone else, and I will take care not to do it every time, I promise you. You are so much more than someone to feed on.”

Geralt nodded, happy with the answer. He didn't mind, but he also wanted to protect Regis from slipping back into the addiction. He would not forgive himself for that. He had also quite liked being called Regis' mate. He reminded himself to tell him about it later.

”How are you feeling?” Regis asked, in turn. Geralt took stock of his body. He could feel the scratches Regis had made healing already, but they stinged every time he shifted. It was amazing, like an added afterglow to the phenomenal sex.

”I feel good. Been a long time since anyone had done all that so intensely,” he confessed, smiling sleepily. ”You really know what you are doing,” he added, smirking. Regis laughed.

”You are easy to read, my love. Even when your words fail to convey what you need, your body tells it to me, in no uncertain terms.”

  
  


**IV**

After they had gathered themselves and got everything clened up, Regis lifted the ward with a small, smug smile. They had dinner on the patio. The storm had passed, leaving everything cool and clean. They ate in silence. There were no words that needed to be said, right then. Geralt soaked in Regis' presence, letting his eyes linger on his smiles and crinkling eyes.

When darkness began to fall, they sat on the stairs, looking at the stars as they blinked at them, slowly revealing the whole of the night sky. The last dregs of dark clouds were being chased away by winds high up. It was almost new moon, Geralt saw.

Suddenly, Regis stiffened, looking around in alarm.

”What is it?” Geralt hissed, almost bolting inside the house to retrieve his swords; Regis' hand on his arm stilled him. He looked at the witcher, his eyes full of amazement and worry.

”Dettlaff,” he whispered and grabbed his hand, just as the wind gave a sigh that was not entirely natural.

The black-haired vampire materialized a respectful distance away from them. He did not approach, merely stood there looking at them with a wary expression. Geralt felt a stab of worry, but for whom, he couldn't tell. For a while, all three of them stood there; Dettlaff staring at them, Geralt and Regis on the stairs, Regis still hoding on to his hand.

”I came to apologize.” Dettlaff's voice was quiet, less intense than it had been before. He let his gaze drop, letting it linger on their joined hands. Geralt saw his lips twitch, almost forming a tiny smile.

Finally, when neither of the vampires seemed to find any more words, he cleared his throat.

”Come sit down with us?” he asked, gesturing towards the patio. Dettlaff cocked his head, considering him before nodding and taking hesitant steps towards them.

When they were seated Geralt got a good look at Dettlaff. He looked tired and worried, but not angry. Regis was staring at him, too.

”Where have you been, Dettlaff?” he asked, seemingly unable to bear the silence any longer. Dettlaff met his eyes, looking conflicted. Regis pressed on. ”I couldn't sense you anywhere. I thought...” Regis' voice trailed off. He looked at his hands, his lips pursed together.

”I shut you out,” Dettlaff said, his voice kind and regretful. ”I didn't wish to burden you any more than what I had already done.”

Regis scoffed, his hands curling into fists. Geralt reached out without thinking, resting his own calloused palm on top of Regis' hand, until it loosened and he managed to grab it again.

Dettlaff was watching them, his eyes unreadable.

”You are his mate,” he finally observed. The words seemed to please him, for some reason. Geralt only shrugged, not seeing any sense in denying what the vampire probably could see and smell a mile away. He could feel Regis stiffen, but fighting to remain calm.  


”I had my suspicions all the while,” Dettlaff continued. ”But I'm glad to see it with my own eyes. Regis deserves the world, and I have not been the friend he hoped I would be.”

”Dettlaff.” Regis' voice sounded broken. He was looking at the vampire, his hand gripping Geralt's so hard it almost hurt. ”You became my pack long ago when you saved me. I have not renounced that bond.”

Geralt could recall Regis telling him about the pack dynamics, long ago. The pack was their family, joined by blood, love, and kinship. Dettlaff suspecting Regis might have cast him out must have hurt him viciously, for him to come seek them out. And seeing Regis' reaction to Dettlaff all but asking to be abandoned confirmed the depth of the bond to Geralt. He swallowed, suddenly hoping desperately Regis was been correct about him having vampire genes. He wanted to understand that bond. The thought scared him, but he pushed it away for the time being.

Dettlaff let his gaze drop. His demeanor was one of regret and loneliness. He clearly could not believe Regis still wanted to have him around. Geralt raked his brain, trying to come up with anything to convince him. Dettlaff severing the bond out of his own misguided guilt would hurt Regis so much Geralt was ready to do anything to prevent it.

”I have not behaved honorably, Regis. I hurt so many innocent people because of my anger. I hurt _your mate_ , the one who holds your heart. I don't deserve your kinship,” Dettlaff finally continued.

”You have it anyway.”

Both Regis and Dettlaff turned to stare at him. Geralt realized he had spoken aloud. Blushing, he cleared his throat.

”Regis did everything he could to save you. He made me see your memories with Resonance. He would have saved Syanna only to protect you from yourself. And after you left, he all but broke down. Don't do that again,” he told Dettlaff, trying to put his thoughts to words. It didn't sound very sophisticated, as he had never possessed Regis' eloquence. Geralt rubbed his neck, almost regretting speaking up.

”Regis has not given up on you. And if he's prepared to let you redeem yourself, so am I.” He didn't really know where that last bit came from, but he knew it was true. He did not know Dettlaff like Regis did, but he was prepared to trust Regis. He wanted to understand.

Dettlaff stared at him, his mouth open and revealing a tip of a fang. Despite that, he looked very human then, searching for words and coming up with nothing.

Regis squeezed Geralt's hand, smiling sadly at both of them.

”And there you have it, Dettlaff. The proof Geralt is worth it all,” he said, his tone no longer carrying the note of defeat. ”He's my pack, but so are you. We have wounds to mend, but nothing has been broken beyond repair.”

Dettlaff finally raised his gaze, looking Geralt in the eye. He considered him a long moment, before standing up and offering his hand. Geralt stood up and grasped it without hesitation.

”I am sorry. For everything,” Dettlaff murmured, not breaking eye contact. His eyes were very bright, their blue almost silver in the dark.

”I know,” Geralt answered, squeezing his hand. Dettlaff's eyes flicked over to Regis, before returning to Geralt and looking suddenly hesitant. ”I'm under the impression you witchers believe in the so-called law of surprise. I can't help but feel like there is something akin to that in our situation.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, not understanding. Dettlaff smiled fleetingly.

”Neither of us could expect this, but through Regis we, too, are bound together. I am honored to know you and to consider you a part of my pack. I wish I can someday repay my debt.”

Geralt swallowed, words deserting him. Dettlaff squeezed his hand once more before releasing it. ”You don't have to answer,” he added, clearly understanding the gravity of what he had just said.

Dettlaff turned to look at Regis, who had his hand in front of his mouth, looking like he might cry. Geralt gauged the situation and smiled before squeezing Regis' arm.

”I guess you two have some talking to do,” he said finally, when no one made a move. ”I will be upstairs,” he told Regis, who only nodded, looking at him with wide eyes. Geralt nodded to Dettlaff, who acknowledged him with a bow of his head.

When closed the door behind him, he was feeling curiously serene. He felt completely calm about leaving the vampires alone. There had been nothing on Dettlaff that would have caused him to worry. Well, apart from him apparently considering Geralt a member of his pack.

But, he mused as he stripped his clothes and slid into bed, at least Dettlaff had managed to shed the anger he had been carrying. He didn't yet know how the vampire had managed it, but there had been none of the raging fire in his eyes tonight.

He fell asleep almost immediately. He was later woken when Regis climbed into the bed. Through the haze of the sleep Geralt could see Regis seemed relaxed, if still a bit sad.

”How'd it go?” he mumbled, pulling him close. He felt Regis sigh as he tucked his head under his chin.

”Well, all things considered. We still have a lot to talk about,” he answered, pressing a kiss to Geralt's neck. ”You did well,” he added.

”How come?” Geralt asked, fighting against sleep.

”Dettlaff trusts you. You not rejecting his acknowledgement of the pack bond might very well be the first step towards us all healing from this,” Regis whispered.

”Am I, though? His pack?” Geralt yawned. He felt Regis smile.

”You get to choose. Just like you ended up choosing me.”

”Mm. No regrets about that. But Dettlaff, I'll need to think about it.”

”We all have time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP WE'RE DONE!  
> The Regis POV thingie will follow sometime in the future, stay tuned.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this far! I loved writing this, and reading all the comments has been a contant source of joy. <3


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